


You Do You

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Almost Everyone Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Multi, Post-Order 66, The Ghost Crew - Freeform, ish, its happier, well kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In order to survive, there are three, very simple rules to follow. Don't stand out. Accept the past. Trust no one.Good thing that the majority of these people have always been rule-breakers in some form. Because these three rules tend to get broken a lot, especially when you're running around with aMando'adwho's armour is painted brightly, a pair of clones who don't have chips in their brains, a few surviving Jedi, a former Senator, a scrapper, a homemade protocol droid and a noisy astromech, alongside more than one troublemaking Padawan and former Padawan.Nobody in their little group has died just yet, so they're sticking to the gun that works.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger & Sabine Wren
Kudos: 18





	1. What is lost is often found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra and Kanan play with sticks, the Ghost crashes, people threaten each other.

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter One: What is lost is often found.

* * *

_Click_ , _clack_ , _clack_ , _crack_.

The final collision echoed through the small valley-like dip in the earth, the larger, older man leaning down on the smaller boy, pressing his weight down. The weapons, two long straight sticks that they each wielded as a sword, scrapped against each other, as the boy grunted, feet shifting to support him. The man's eyes narrowed, and the kid glared up at him, both hands holding on to the base of his weapon tightly.

The boy pushed up and to the side, the man's weapon sliding off. Following through with the motion, the boy twisted over, flipping backwards, hands pressing down on the ground in a single movement, the man barely avoiding the foot that came up. The boy did another handspring backwards, landing in a crouch, and threw himself forwards, the sticks clashing with another crack.

"Better." Kanan praised, both weapons flashing. Ezra nodded once, spinning low and slashing at his master's feet. Kanan jumped over it, and Ezra rolled away from the retaliatory slash. His version of Ataru wasn't as acrobatic as what others might do, but for a human, it was impressive. Other species had different advantages; humans simply were the middle ground.

Their weapons clashed once more, in three quick hits. Ezra ducked under the fourth slash, and cartwheeled away, facing off against Kanan, before he flipped backwards, high, using the Force to boost himself, avoiding the next attack. "Yeah?"

Kanan scoffed in amusement, pressing the attack. Ezra was tiring, he could tell. Ataru wasn't known for its stamina like Soresu sometimes was, and Shii-Cho often was. And the kid didn't have the most stamina in the first place, although Ahsoka was right. Ataru was the right form for him; he was lightweight and quick, naturally acrobatic. It was natural for him to use that in combat. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

He caught Ezra's next attack swiftly, and with a simple angled twist, disarmed him, catching the stick in the air, with only a little help from the Force. He held both weapons at either side of Ezra's head, the young teenager freezing in place for a moment. Then, in a fleeting, smooth motion, he ducked his head, curling up into a little ball, and rolled backwards, pressing his hands down onto the ground, and pushing up, flipping to his feet, out of range, all in the span of a second.

Ezra grinned and opened his mouth to speak when they heard it. Or rather, they didn't hear it so much as felt it. A twitch in the Force, a little alarm bell ringing in their minds. Both of them looked up and saw it.

It was a ship. Shuttering and jolting through the air as it sailed through the sky. Kanan barely had to reach out to sense the people within. Cool confidence that barely covered the fear within, a dull terror, and a pounding of _not them_ , _not_ _them_ , _not_ _them_. He didn't have to look to know that Ezra was looking the same way, feeling the same things as the ship streaked past, shuttering as it crossed over them, spewing smoke from at least half of it.

"Kanan?" he heard Ezra say, as the ship crossed out of their sight, and the sound of a crash thundered through the air. "Should we?"

* * *

The ship was half on-fire. Or, had been, at some point. Fires didn't happen in the vacuum of space that often, thanks to the lack of oxygen other than the air inside ships, but it did happen. And once they'd broken into the atmosphere, it wasn't much of a surprise that they'd caught on fire properly, Hera reflected, as she unbuckled herself from the pilot's seat.

The Ghost was pitched at such an angle that she slid out instantly, gravity wrapping around her. She landed on the side of the control board, the entire ship at a semi-forty-five-degree angle that wasn't that extreme, but it was still an irritation, one that she wasn't all that fond of. Hera shook her head, regretting the motion as a throbbing sensation rushed through her mind, and she lifted a hand to her forehead as if it might help. It didn't.

After a few seconds of staying perfectly still, she opened her eyes—when had she even closed them, she didn't have any clue—and slowly stood up straight, one hand on the floor, which in her position, was more of a wall, so that she could balance. Glancing around, making sure she moved slowly, she took note of the cracked glass and the still-blinking controls, which were what told her the ship was half on fire. Or not. The safety systems were kicking in, and the trill that had not been helping her head finally cut off.

"Ugh." she groaned and started to crawl up the floor-wall, towards the door. She needed to figure out where Sabine was—she knew Zeb had been in the only functioning turret when they hit, and he could take care of himself, and she was sure Chopper would be fine in the end, droids were notorious for being... well, you could rebuild them, simply put—but she had no clue where Sabine was. And Sabine was the youngest, practically an unofficial daughter to Hera. Which meant that Sabine was the current concern, even though the Mandalorian would probably take offence to that; she was scarily independent for a fifteen-year-old.

Maybe humans aged quicker. Hera couldn't remember, and she resolved to look into it once she got the opportunity. It would probably make it easier to understand where she should draw the lines.

By the time the Twi'lek managed to get ahold of the doors control panel, she was certain it had been far too long, although any amount of time between coming to her senses and knowing that her crew was was too much for her. If there was a way to make one of those crazy Jedi bonds between her and her crew, she'd do it in a heartbeat. Although she supposed that Chopper wouldn't be able to connect with them for that...

All the same, she'd have done it if she could. But then again, Hera reflected, she'd probably have been at the Jedi Temple during the massacre, and therefore dead, as she didn't know of a single survivor. Maybe it was better if she wasn't able to make a Force bond, considering that.

Opening the door, and pulling herself up into the room behind it, Hera found Chopper, who was on his side, muttering to himself in a stream of Binary she didn't want to translate, but it was automatic at this point. Rolling her eyes at the droid—and wincing at the stab of pain it brought, who knew, an eye roll could make it feel like someone was drilling through your skull—Hera wrapped her hands around Choppers sides, grunting with effort as she lifted him, and set him back down, upright. The droid spouted another chain of Binary at her, and she nodded in understanding, ignoring the pain that time around. "Do you know where Sabine is?"

He squawked at her in the negative, and turned around, starting to move forwards towards the cockpit. Hera followed, keeping a hand on the wall to balance. She heard the familiar sound of the cargo hold's door opening and looked down at Chopper. He whirred at her, and she nodded in understanding. "Go find them. I'll meet our guests."

He turned back around, probably going to get Zeb first, which was fair. Hera wasn't quite sure she was thinking straight, personally, considering she hadn't thought to get him first, when she was right there, close to him. If she'd been feeling better, she'd probably make a note to check for a concussion; as it were, she wasn't feeling great, or at least, at the top of her game, so it slipped her mind.

Drawing her blaster, she lowered herself down the ladder, quietly as she could, her head still-throbbing, the ache impossible to ignore. She pushed through the pain, and crept towards the railing of the cargo holds balcony, eyes on the two shadows that crossed the floor, rising against the far wall. One was shorter than the other, but they were close together.

"Wonder how they crashed." one of them said, the shadows changing, telling her that they were moving forwards. They sounded young, and she couldn't pick out any real accent off of them, or gender, although she was leaning towards them being male. "Do you think it was a malfunction, or..."

The voice trailed off, and a second one spoke up. They sounded older, but also male. Once again, no distinguishing accent that she could pick out.

"You don't get that much smoke from a malfunction," they said, and she saw the top of one of their heads, as the first one made a _huh_ noise. Hera darted forwards, aiming her blaster at them, over the railing, voice booming around the hold as she shouted.

"Hands up! Drop any weapons, hands in the air!"

Both of them twisted, turning around and taking a few steps backwards, making it easier for her to see them. They were both human, one younger than the other, no older than Sabine, the other maybe Hera's age, if she remembered her human to twi'lek conversions correctly. The older one pushed the younger back, putting himself between Hera and him, eyes narrowing up at her. He had a blaster on the side of his leg, but he didn't go for it, focusing just on her.

She stayed still, as did he. Nobody spoke, until the younger human leaned around the older one's arm, to look up at her. "Hello."

If Hera had been moving before, she would have frozen at that. Just the blank, unassuming, tone, just the... how it was presented, was so strange. Like he had no expectations from her. Not Sabine's half hopeful way of saying it which told Hera she still wasn't sure they wouldn't throw her away, or Zeb's half-harsh greeting, torn by battle. Or Choppers binary insults and chirps.

"Same to you." she found herself saying, and the older one tensed, the younger one shrinking back slightly. as if he'd been told off by the older one, which made no sense at all, as neither of them had spoken. Meaning it was probably a body language thing. "Identify yourselves."

"Kanan." the older one said, one arm slightly held out, holding the younger one back. "And Ezra. You?"

"Hera," she said, not lowering her weapon. "What do you want?"

"We saw you crash." Ezra pipped up—she was pretty sure the younger one was Ezra, at least. Most people introduced themselves first, in any case, and she was going to presume that the older one was Kanan until told otherwise. If the names she'd been given were even their real ones.

Absently, Hera remarked to herself that she'd become somewhat paranoid in recent years. Above her, she heard something clang, and then Sabine was beside her, both pistols out and ready to go, crouched beside Hera, aiming between the bars at the pair. She hadn't shot yet; Hera made a note of that, as it was something positive. Sometimes Sabine's training got in the way of what the girl wanted to do, or what was the right choice in the given situation. "Who's here?"

"Us," Ezra said, leaning around Kanan again, only to be pushed back by Kanan a second time. This time though, he leaned around the other side of the man, who let out a small sigh, the air hissing out between his teeth. "Who are you?"

"Sabine."

"You're... Mandalorian?"

Sabine tensed, and Ezra winced minutely, picking up on her discomfort. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing," Ezra said quickly, as Zeb landed behind Hera, staying back, just listening, which, to the twi'lek's aching mind, didn't make any sense. To Sabine's (hopefully) undamaged mind, it did make sense. Hide their numbers, surprise them. "Just... I know someone who knew someone from there."

"We both do," Kanan said flatly, gaze moving from Sabine back to Hera. Despite having a Mandalorian aiming two pistols at him, and a twi'lek with another blaster pointed at him, he was remarkably calm. Either he was confident that they wouldn't shoot him, or confident in his ability to make it out alive with Ezra. A third option, that he was just naturally that calm, came to mind, but Hera wasn't sure that was true. It might be, but she wasn't sure. "Who attacked you guys?"

"Who says we were attacked?" Sabine retorted, unwavering in her conviction.

"The damages," Kanan replied smoothly. "That's not something you get from a malfunction."

"You know a lot about ships?"

"Not really. But we have a friend." Ezra filled in. Hera raised her eyebrows, ignoring the throbbing that came with it, her blaster dipping down, away from the two humans, ever so slightly. It bobbed, as she lifted it back up.

"You have a lot of friends."

"Not anymore," Kanan said, quieter than before. It was the tone that Hera knew, that she'd felt herself use, felt Zeb use. The voice someone used when they'd lost a lot of people. A voice that was becoming all too common in the galaxy of late for Hera's tastes. "They're gone now."

* * *

The ship was named the _Ghost_ , the crew made up of the teenaged Mandalorian girl, Sabine, the Lasat male, Zeb, Twi'lek pilot Hera, and Chopper, their groups astromech. Ezra bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from speaking after Sabine took her helmet off. Her eyes were puffy and red from the smoke, leaking tears to try and flush the alien substance from her system, and she'd had a trickle of blood that was already drying, trailing down her forehead and into her eyebrow, although it caught there, and was starting to scab over.

Hera had a slightly glazed-eyed look about her, the kind that he knew from Obi-Wan and Anakin—mostly thanks to Anakin getting hit in the head a bit too often—that she'd probably got some kind of head injury. Maybe a concussion, but Leia hit her head all the time, and she'd never gotten one, even though she got the glazed eyes sometimes, so Ezra guessed that maybe it's not a concussion.

Glancing at Kanan, who was still speaking to the crew, Ezra reached out tentatively, toward the small sparks in the Force that are the crew. The smaller, fiery one that reminded him of Ahsoka is Sabine, he could tell from the moment he sensed it. The harsh grey-ish one—it didn't look grey, as Ezra couldn't see with the Force like he could with his eyes, but that's how Luke described people like this, and Ezra picked it up at some point—that was the Lasat, Zeb.

Hera had the fuzzy feeling that he associated with people hitting their heads real hard. Not hard enough to knock them out, but enough to cause some problems. Carefully prodding, as he wasn't sure how attuned to the Force the crew was—sometimes even non-Force sensitives could pick up on it, and they'd learned that the hard way with the blind man—Ezra compared her mental state to what he knows about concussions. He was fairly certain she didn't have one, but she had a headache for sure.

Kanan was arguing with the crew, Ezra noted, as he settles his mind back into his body—he hadn't realized he'd been that out of it—or maybe he was debating with them. It wasn't exactly clear. Sabine didn't seem to be that open to them being on the ship, despite having taken her helmet off and sitting down on the floor, legs dangling off the ledge she was on, arms resting on the railing. Zeb didn't seem to want them around anymore then Sabine did, if at all. Hera was the only one open to their presence, and he couldn't exactly tell what Chopper's opinion was, as Chopper was a droid.

"You don't even know what planet you're on, do you?" he said, breaking into the argument. The crew looked at him, or at least, Sabine and Hera did. Zeb scoffed, and Chopper... Ezra couldn't tell where the droid was looking all that well.

"Uh..." Sabine said, resting her chin on her arms, which were folded overtop each other, pistols hanging from her fingers, which made him nervous. Ezra had his lightsaber, disguised as a blaster on him, and Kanan had his lightsaber hidden somewhere, but she was Mandalorian. Ezra knew what they could do, not just from Ahsoka's stories. Leia had been there a few times, and he'd been there once. They were good fighters, really good ones. "No, not really. Somewhere peaceful?"

A Mandalorian who was hoping for peace. Odd, but not unwelcome. Besides, she had some kind of head injury and at least one other member of her crew was hurt in some way. Mandalorians weren't stupid; they were pretty smart. If you were stupid, then you'd end up killed, Ezra knew. But still. A bit strange for one of her people. Then again, most Mandalorians didn't paint their armour or whatever she'd done to hers or dye their hair crazy colours. Other than the clones, but they'd needed independence, and they weren't even _Haat Mando'ade_ like Sabine probably was. Well, they were, but they hadn't been raised like she probably had been.

"This is Lothal," Kanan said, still standing between Ezra and the crew. Hera had also lowered her weapon, although unlike Sabine, she'd holstered hers. Ezra still didn't doubt that she could pull it out in a second, head injury or no.

"We're back on Lothal?" Sabine said, seemingly to herself. Zeb scoffed, his arms crossed. But he didn't say anything. "Huh."

"We're going to have to get repairs," Hera said, standing up straight. She'd been leaning on the top railing, head dropping slightly. "And Lothal is covered with Empire forces."

"So you don't like the Empire," Ezra noted, smiling at her. Sabine tensed, and he felt her presence spark in the force, like a fire that had just crackled, spending sparks flying.

"What's it to you?"

"I don't think most people like the Empire," Kanan said, playing the peacemaker. Ezra was more than happy to let him take up that role. "You were fighting them, weren't you?"

Their faces were all the two Force-sensitives needed for confirmation, and they didn't even need to be Force-sensitive for that. Ezra smirked at the crew, relaxing somewhat, and stepping out from behind Kanan properly now.

"We can help you. We don't exactly like the Empire much either."

Down their bond, Ezra felt Kanan twist with discomfort. It was somewhat fair. Not many people liked the Empire, even if nobody would out and say it, out of fear. Even just saying something like what he just had was cause for worry for the pair. Caleb Dume was still technically wanted, even years after Order 66, his picture circulating on the holo-net every so often, and while Ezra didn't have that, it was risky for him too. Since he had a disguised lightsaber and all that.

"Why'd you help us?" Zeb asked, accent odd to Ezra's ears. He smiled up at the older lifeform.

"We need to get off-planet." Kanan filled in before Ezra could, and the Padawan blinked with surprise. They did? "We've spent enough time on Lothal as it is. We help you with the ship, you take us to another planet. Win-win."

"Why you want to leave Lothal?" Sabine asked, swinging her legs back and forth. Okay, she was certainly not a normal Mandalorian. The armour, hair, attitude, and now swinging her legs like that? Something was off.

Then again, Ezra reflected, considering they'd been gunned down by the Empire, they were probably a rebel cell of some kind. So she probably wasn't exactly a regular Mandalorian, although he was fairly certain that a lot of the _Haat Mando'ade_ were fairly pissed off at the Empire, they just weren't sure how to channel it just yet.

* * *

Sabine wasn't sure what to make of the two before her. They were human, like her— _Manda'yaim_ was a human settlement in the first place, more or less, although the Clans took anyone in who followed the Way and pledged themselves, no matter who, so long as they didn't abandon the Way. But that didn't mean much. Anyone could be evil, she knew that better than a lot of others did. Not to mention, the Empire was pretty racist in who they accepted into their ranks. (Speciesist? She wasn't sure.) Togruta, Quarren, Gran, Ugnaught? They didn't tend to accept any of them unless it was specifically useful, and even then... she'd heard plenty of stories from her time working as a bounty hunter.

In any case, her first impression? Not a bad one. The older one, Kanan, seemed slightly overprotective, which was sweet. The younger one, Ezra, was around her age. He seemed alright, from what she could tell so far. But she wasn't a mind reader. She didn't know.

`She'd taken him into the secondary cargo hold, where everything that had been carefully bolted down, from the all-nutriments-and-no-taste food packets to the cans of spray paint to the spare weapons were strewn all about. Originally, she'd planned on doing it by herself, getting a moment to breathe and relax and go over what had happened and maybe check herself in a mirror and clean up whatever injuries she had a feeling were there.

But Ezra had offered, and Hera had seemed fine with it, so here she was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, while a strange kid scraped at her forehead with a cloth, trying to get the blood off. He knew about some medical things, barely anything, less than she did, which was only due to knowing a pair of siblings who got in more fights than _Mando'ade_ did—that was a joke, she could tell—but otherwise knew nothing. He'd checked her for a concussion though, for which she was grateful. From what they could tell, she didn't have one.

He wasn't quiet, she didn't think, although they were strangers, so maybe he was just slightly shy around people he didn't know. He was wiry, built like she was, for speed and acrobatics, not for fisticuffs like some people she knew. His hair was almost blue, although she was fairly certain that that was a result of the light, and not his actual hair colour unless he was in the habit of using dyes like she was.

"What'd the Empire ever do to you?" she asked finally, and he paused, hesitating ever so slightly in his scrubbing. If they'd been walking around, she was sure that he'd have stumbled over his own two feet from the reaction he gave. "Most people don't just up and say they don't like the Empire."

Ezra took in a shaky breath, and let out a slightly steadier one. "They murdered my family."

"Shit," Sabine said, the old curse slipping out before she knew what she'd even said. Ezra scoffed in weak amusement. A lot of families had died from the Empire, but not a lot of it was direct. It was overtaxing, overworking, imprisoning people without cause and not letting them go. But flat-out murder was pretty rare since the Empire attempted to keep a thin veil of _we're the good guys!_ up, despite everyone knowing otherwise. "What'd your family do to them, huh?"

"Existed, mostly," Ezra admitted. "They had... values, ones that the Empire didn't agree with. So... bang."

He mimed shooting a blaster, the dark humour some form of coping mechanism for him, like her art was for her.

"That's shitty," she said, and he smiled at her, without grief, having already mourned. "How long ago was that?"

"Decade or so. Kanan got me out. We've been together since."

"And how old are you?"

"Thirteen."

She whistled in appreciation as he bundled up the cloth and pitched it at the half-open garbage chute, getting it in on the first try. Escaping the Empire at four, even with outside help wasn't something you saw every day. Escaping the Empire at all wasn't something you saw every day, and that was enough for the kid to have a sliver of her respect. And she didn't always give people her respect that freely. Actions were better than stories, for her. "Nice. I'm fourteen, as of right now. Standard years, that is?"

"Yeah." he nodded in agreement, and she followed his gaze to her helmet, which rested beside her on the floor. "What's up with your armour?"

"I like art," she said simply, and he laughed. "What?"

"Just..." he gestured at her, grinning. "You know. _Mando'ad_ _beskar'gam_. With that art on it. And your answer. It's pretty funny, at least to me."

Sabine raised her eyebrows at the usage of _Mando'a_. Not a lot of outsiders really knew it, and while Ezra's pronunciation was close, it was clear he wasn't the most fluent in the language. Standing up, she picked up her _buy'ce_ and slid it on, so that she didn't lose it when they were cleaning. She offered Ezra a hand, and he took it, letting her pull him to his feet. "Whatever kid. C'mon, help me clean."

"I'm your age!" he protested, and she laughed, punching him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to do any damage, and he playfully growled at her, lunging at her and clipping her shoulder with his fist, both of them giggling to themselves. "Not a kid!"

"Whatever, _kid_." she taunted, dancing out of range of his fists, as he punched at her again, grinning like she was.

"Hey!"

She ducked his punch, and dropped into a crouch, sweeping her leg out. He jumped over, darting back, out of range of her legs, and she rose. "You're a fighter?"

"Wanna see?" he challenged, bouncing his weight back from one foot to the other, light on his feet. She smirked, even though he couldn't see it through her _buy'ce_. "Oh, it's on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Manda'yaim - Mandalore, as in the planet
> 
> Mando'ade - the people of Mandalore, pl.
> 
> Mando'ad - Mandalorian citizen, sing.
> 
> Beskar'gam - beskar armour, lit. 'beskar skin'
> 
> Mando'a - Mandalorian language
> 
> Buy'ce - helmet


	2. When we rescue others, we rescue ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tinkering, flying, and a very big ship.

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Two: When we rescue others, we rescue ourselves.

* * *

"Hey, Ezra, pass me the—uh.. thingy, would you?"

Ezra glanced around, and reached for a nearby wrench, picking it up. He dangled it above Sabine's head almost mockingly, grinning down on her. "This 'thingy'?" he teased, and she made a face at him, lunging for the tool. She was inside the _Ghost's_ roof—for lack of a better term—using what little mechanical skills she had to fix the machinery. It wasn't complicated, thankfully, otherwise, the two teenagers probably would have never been allowed to even touch the insides of the ship, least Hera launch them into the nearest star.

"How long have you been with the others?" Ezra asked, and Sabine nearly fumbled with the wrench, barely stopping herself from dropping it. She looked up at Ezra, who looked down at her, seemingly realizing that he'd caught her off-guard. "Sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"It's fine." she managed to say, crouching back down into the ship, and pulling her head and shoulders into the space between the outer plating and the inner plating, using a small flashlight on her wrist to see what she was doing. "A few months now. What about you and Kanan?"

She silently curses, because he's already given her the answer to that, a few days ago, in the secondary cargo hold, but Ezra either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Or is willing to repeat himself.

"Ten years. I knew him before that though, for as long as I can remember."

"Your families were close?"

Ezra let out a breathy laugh, and she heard a small thump. He'd laid down on the outer panels then, she guessed. "In a way, you could look at it like that, yeah. His... grandfather-figure was the one who found me."

"Grandfather?" she said, voice sounding unbelieving, even to her ears as she fiddled with the wrench. She was mostly just checking on things, unscrewing the bolts or whatever to check them and whatnot before putting them back into place. "You guys had a good family?"

"The best."

"Must have been nice," Sabine muttered, the bolt or whatever it was called, she didn't know, falling off, and hitting her in the face, just above her eye. It rolled off, and she groaned, twisting to look for it.

"What was your family like?"

"What do you know about Mandalore?" she asked rhetorically, injecting a bit of dry humour into it.

"A bit. Warrior clans, jetpacks, great fighters. Satine used to rule you guys, didn't she? I don't know much other than that, although I do know some _Mando'a_. Basic stuff. One of my friends has visited a few times."

"Oh yeah?"

"She got in a lot of fights." Ezra laughed, and Sabine's eyes narrowed, as she let the flashlight's beam roam over the insides of the ship. Where was the whatchamacallit? She couldn't see it. "Won a few of them."

"Punch any of my family members?" Sabine asked, half-joking. "Clan Wren, met any of them?"

"Uh... yes?" Ezra said, his tone making her wonder if he was expecting her to blow up in his face. "Tristan Wren. She fought with him once. Is he—"

"Younger sibling, yeah." Sabine sighed, finally spotting the small piece of metal. She reached for it, fingers pinching it, and lifting it. She twisted back around and started to replace it. "Don't bother worrying. I'm not going to hit you. Nobody in my family stood by me when I went against the Empire. I don't—they don't—I—"

"I get it," Ezra said quietly, and Sabine pulled herself out, standing up. She rested her arms on the ship's plating, propping her head up with a hand, looking over at Ezra. He looked over at her, eyes holding something that she couldn't name. "They didn't stand by you, so you had to stand alone."

"Yeah." she agreed, looking away, at the horizon. "Happened to you?"

"No. But... the place I grew up was strange with rules. My family wasn't all that big on romance." Ezra scoffed, rubbing at his eyes with a hand. "I don't even like that stuff, you know? I don't get it. But... the option wasn't supposed to be there, for us. I guess that messed some of us up, but it worked most of the time. It was there to protect us."

"I can get that," Sabine admitted. "I've never wanted that either, and for Mando'ade, relationships like that aren't really based on aesthetics, you know? They're based on skill. So leaving Mandalore, it was a culture shock when someone hit on me how most of the galaxy flirts. They didn't even know my name, just thought I looked good. Called me delicate, which is like, the most insulting thing ever."

"What did you do?"

She smirked. "Kicked their ass, what did you think?

* * *

_"Breathe in, and breathe out," Obi-Wan instructed. "Feel the Force. It's all around us. Inside all of us."_

_Ezra cracked an eye open, wondering how the others were doing with the meditation. Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, and his breathing was following the pattern that he'd set out for the others, so Ezra opened both eyes, glancing around at Luke and Leia. Luke seemed to be dead-set on managing to get it right, while Leia looked more or less bored. She had her eyes open too and met Ezra's gaze. Quietly, she lifted one hand, and pointed at her ear, making small circles in the universal sign for crazy. Ezra managed to hide his laughter, only for Obi-Wan's voice to cut through his thoughts, sharp and clear._

_"Leia! Ezra! I know you're not concentrating."_

_They both straightened their spines, turning back to the Jedi Master. "Sorry Master." they both chimed at the same time, before bursting into laughter at their timing. Luke let out a long-suffering sigh at the two, in the sort of way only an older brother could._

_Ezra closed his eyes, trying to follow instructions this time around, but found himself distracted once more, this time by bits of sand that pelted his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he found Leia, once again, not concentrating on the lesson like her brother was, and levitating small, misshapen orbs of sand from the desert and launching them at him._

_Ezra narrowed his eyes, and caught the next attack, flinging it back at her. She slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her yelp of surprise, and Obi-Wan's eyes flew open, just as Luke twisted where he sat, to look at the two youngest of their group._

_"Can't you try and focus?" Luke complained, and both his sister and Ezra turned red with embarrassment. "Seriously guys, c'mon."_

_"Maybe if you weren't so stuck up." Leia retorted, picking up a half-handful of sand with her fingers and pitching it at Luke, who closed his eyes and turned away, determined not to react. Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself about 'Yes, most certainly her father's daughter' and whatnot, while Ezra watched with fascination, Leia still pelting her brother with sand._

_"Perhaps Ahsoka is better suited to this task," Obi-Wan suggested, seemingly to himself. Leia froze, fingers burrowed into the sand, and Luke's head snapped around to look at the man, while Ezra frowned. "Oh? Do I have your attention now? Can we try and focus on our task and not attack our relatives with sand?"_

_Luke snickered, and Leia huffed, crossing her arms and looking away from her brother. Ezra watched in fascination. He'd never had siblings like Luke and Leia; well, he had, back at the_ _crèche, but he didn't have siblings like how they were siblings. And they'd been the only twins at the crèche anyways, nobody else had any siblings._

_He was kind of jealous._

* * *

"You've worked with machinery like this before?" Hera asked as she began to resemble the parts of the machine she'd just taken apart. Kanan smiled, using a rag to wipe down the tools.

"Not really. Friend of ours."

Hera was learning that Kanan and Ezra seemed to have a lot of friends. Or rather, not a lot of friends, but a small group of rather unique people. There was at least one father of two, someone who was like an uncle to said two children, and someone who was like an aunt-slash-older-sister to them. Kanan never seemed to refer to any of them with names, although Hera had caught the names of Ashla and Ben briefly a day or so before when the man had been speaking to Ezra. It had probably supposed to be a private conversation, but it hadn't been that discrete, although Hera couldn't figure out what it had been about exactly.

"Which one? The reckless one, or the one that gets in fights?"

Kanan smiled. Quiet. Soft. Almost not there. "The reckless one for sure. She didn't exactly inherit her fathers' talent for machines. She did get his temper though; her brother... less so."

Hera nodded, finishing up. She stood, lifting the thruster, and grunted with effort. Kanan looked up. "Want help?"

"Sure."

Together, the two of them replaced the thruster into its proper position, and Hera began to reconnect it, the progress slow, but not as slow as it could have been. With Ezra's knack for getting lower prices and Kanan's knowledge of the nearby stores and businesses, they'd gotten all of the parts they couldn't rebuild within the first three days. The two days since had been spent installing said parts and doing general maintenance and repairs. Hera wasn't exactly ungrateful; as much as she wished they'd never been gunned down, meeting Kanan and Ezra had been good for at least one member of their crew; Sabine.

Hera had been worried about the Mandalorian girl. She wasn't violent and battle-hungry like other Mandalorians were—although apparently, they weren't actually that battle-hungry, but just liked a good fight—but she did have a vicious streak, and it had become more prominent in recent weeks, the girl's stunts becoming riskier and riskier. Zeb was no help in reeling her in, and neither was Chopper, leaving Hera to try and do the part. And she'd failed at it. But Ezra seemed to get through to the girl. They fought, yes, but it seemed to be closer to what siblings might do than any real violence. Or, what Hera thought siblings should be like. And it was good for Sabine to have someone closer to her age around. Chopper was ancient—for an astromech, at least—and Zeb was fully grown, just like Hera was. And not a single one of them was human, or Mandalorian. Yes, interspecies relationships were common, almost more so than relationships between two of the same kind, but... sometimes it was better for someone's mental state if they had someone similar to them around.

Hera wouldn't admit it aloud, but she wasn't looking forwards to parting with these people, as odd as they could be sometimes, even if only for Sabine's sake. The girl was more open than she'd been in weeks, laughing and shoving Ezra around—he wasn't shy about pushing her back—and showing off her art and making new drawings. She'd even tried to get Ezra to draw; which hadn't gone well.

"What planet do you guys want to go to?" she asked, searching for one of the smaller wielders. Kanan shrugged, back to cleaning.

"Doesn't matter. As long as it's Outer Rim and doesn't have a big thing for the Empire, we don't care."

"What'd you do to the Empire?" she asked, almost jokingly. She'd come across other rebel cells, twice. Neither had been part of Fulcrum's network. One had been just trying to get the hell out od doge; they were going past the Outer Rim, which, to Hera, had seemed insane, because there was a reason expansion efforts had stopped. The other had been smuggling people, food, and medical supplies to resistance fighters on-planet. She had a knack for knowing other rebels when she spoke to them.

"Not much," Kanan said, purposefully vague. "We're just annoying to them."

"We've got that in common then." Hera sighed, kneeling to pick up the panel that covered the gaping hole in the ship. She set it in place and began to fasten it. "It's like... a bug, trying to take out a rancor. Feels impossible."

"A rancor?" Kanan said, incredulous. "You compare the Empire to a rancor?"

"Zeb."

"That explains it."

* * *

"This is all you guys have?" Sabine asked, and Ezra shrugged, dropping the backpack on the bunk he'd been offered. "Are you nomads or something?"

"Something like that." Ezra agreed, sitting down beside the bag. "And it's easier to run when you have less stuff."

She shrugged, going back to her sketching. "Suppose that makes sense. I didn't take a lot of stuff when I ran away."

"You ran away?"

Sabine paused in her work, glancing up at Ezra, who was leaning forwards, seemingly interested. Sabine sighed softly, pencil scratching across her sketchpad once more. Most people didn't even use paper anymore. Mostly just artists, or people who were continuing old traditions. It wasn't expensive or anything, just hard to find. "Yeah. I was... training under the Empire. I thought what I was making was helping my people. Instead, they were being used to hurt them. I couldn't stay."

"So you ran."

"So I ran." Sabine agreed, twisting the sketchpad around on her knees so that she could get the right angle without smudging what was already on the thick page. "Worked as a bounty hunter for a while with a friend." "What changed?"

"I met Hera," Sabine said simply, glancing up at Ezra. "What about you? What's your life story? Other than, you know, escaping the Empire."

"Nothing special," Ezra admitted, laying down on the bunk, and rolling onto his back so he was facing the ceiling. "We work odd-jobs sometimes, but mostly we just wander around. It's not that complicated."

"Sounds interesting enough. How long you been on Lothal for?"

"Few months, I think. Before that, we were on Tatooine for a while. Haven't been anywhere but the Outer Rim for years though."

Sabine nodded in agreement and understanding. "There's not going to be anywhere to run soon. You know that, right?"

Ezra rolled over, looking up at her. She was sitting against the wall, sketchpad propped up on her knees. She liked sitting in strange places. Helped her think. His eyes were wide, honest and serious. Tired and worn. "We're not running, Sabine."

"Looks like you are to me." She said, as the ship shuttered, a sensation she knew was the take-off sequence. They rose higher, her stomach dropping with the motion. Her fingers tightened around her stylus, and Ezra's fingers gripped the bunks mattress tightly, keeping him balanced as he sat up again. "So, if you're not running, what are you doing?"

He was silent, thinking before he spoke. "The Empire doesn't control everything Sabine."

She scoffed. "I know. Because they don't control _me_."

* * *

Form five is the most acrobatic form, _Ezra recalled, as his blade crossed with Leia's, sparks flying from where green met blue. Their blades clashed through the air, spinning under the heat of Tatooine. He remembered Ahsoka demonstrating her style of Ataru, although she'd used a regular frontal grip, and a single blade, instead of her Jar'Kai reverse grip style. It had felt right to him, and the moment he'd seen it, he'd wanted to be able to do it too._

 _Ahsoka hadn't been the first time he'd seen Ataru in motion. He'd seen Master Yoda use it to defend him and Caleb and a few others when the Temple had first been attacked, and he'd seen one other Jedi use it before that, a_ _Tholothian Padawan, Katooni. And he'd known, the moment he was Katooni flip backwards in what he'd later learn was called a layout, that he wanted to be able to do that._

 _So Ezra pushed off of Leia, kicking off the sandy ground, and threw himself into the air, using the Force to boost himself like he'd been practicing. His flip wasn't a layout like Katooni's had been, and it was slightly clumsy, but he landed a fair distance away from Leia, holding his green blade in Ahsoka's much-loved reverse grip, the landing shockingly well-executed for a twelve-year-old human boy_ _—at least, anyone watching, who didn't notice the lightsabers and extra, unnatural hight to the jump would think so._

_Ezra smirked at Leia, who's eyes, once wide, narrowed. She twisted her blue sabre around, holding it behind her, in the regular frontal position, but bowed down slightly, chin up, focusing on him. He knew the position; it was her favourite defensive starting position._

_They both charged._

* * *

Ezra noticed it before Sabine did. Of course, he did; it wasn't hard to beat her to the punch, especially when he had a Force bond with Kanan that let him know when things were wrong.

His head shot up, and his fingers tightened into fists. Their bond wasn't screaming, but it wasn't quiet anymore either. There was an undertone of _danger danger danger_ and _Ezra where are you we have to leave_ and _this isn't safe anymore_ and more _danger_ and _fear_.

Ezra scrambled to his feet, darting towards the door. It slid open far too slow, and he was already projecting, mind clinging to the bond, demanding reassurances and demanding to be told what was going on. In answer, as Sabine followed him towards the cockpit, he got the warning of _close off_ and _they're_ _here_ and those two things weren't reassuring at all. Ezra snapped at his Master, demanding something helpful as he stumbled into the cockpit. Zeb was there, along with Chopper, with Hera at the controls, Kanan holding onto the wall for balance.

Ezra felt them detach from gravity, break into space, the ship's artificial gravity kicking in after a stomach-churning moment. He stepped towards Kanan, who was wrapped around him in the Force like he always was when things got dangerous. Ezra might have spent a lifetime shielding himself from detection, but he knew that Kanan felt safer and more secure when there was an extra layer there, and if he was honest, he did too. "What's happening?" Kanan reached out with one hand, pulling Ezra closer to him, although not smothering him, and gesturing with his free hand out the repaired glass panes. Ezra's throat tightened. An Imperial Destroyer, hanging right over Lothal.

"Why is there an Imperial Destroyer here?" he heard himself say, only half-seeing everything with his eyes, immersed in the Force. Sabine was sparking like she had the day they met, although a lot more violently now. Zeb's edges were sharper than before, and Hera's light had become harsh. "Tell me you guys didn't try and blow it up."

"We're not that good," Sabine said, grabbing ahold of one of the handholds that were bolted to the ceiling, her glare drilling a hole through the Destroyer. "And how do you know it was us?"

"You just confirmed it," Kanan replied, his presence muted unless Ezra moved through their bond, where he was bright and fierce and a little bit scary. "What did you do to get them on your trail?"

"Fought a Jedi," Sabine answered, and Ezra could sense her fear. She was fairly good at hiding it the old-fashioned way but had no experience hiding it from Force-sensitives.

"A Jedi wouldn't join the Empire." Kanan snapped.

"They had a glowing _ge'tal'_ _kad_!" Sabine protested. "Force-sensitives, _dar'jetii_ , _Jetii_ , whatever! They're just words!"

"They're not just words!" Ezra protested, and Hera glanced back at the argument that was unfolding behind her. "Jedi use the Light, the Sith use the Dark Side! They're not the same!"

"He's right Sabine," Zeb grunted, from the copilot's seat, looking disgruntled at his newest role in the fight. "Jedi are the good guys. That was a Sith."

"You fought a Sith, and survived?" Kanan demanded, and Sabine shrugged.

"It was less of a fight, and more of me blasting at them, throwing a bomb, and Zeb covering me."

"Not much better," Ezra said quietly, his hold on the bond tightening, almost painfully as he pushed against Kanan. He was terrified. He could feel the Sith on that ship, a presence he hadn't felt since the fall of the Order. A presence that he didn't want to encounter ever again. He'd come close to dying that day, so close. Caleb had come even closer. Caleb's Master _had_ died, along with so many others, leaving a gaping hole in the Force, and inside Ezra's mind.

He couldn't lose Caleb. He couldn't lose anyone else. If he did... he wasn't sure what might happen.

 _It's okay,_ Caleb's mind whispered, wrapping around Ezra's in a mental embrace. _It's not going to happen._

Ezra sank into his Master's presence, letting the older, more experienced Jedi tighten their shields and layer their defences, hiding them in the Force. It was cold there, cold without the Force, and with only Caleb—Kanan, ugh, he was reverting again, dammit—to stay warm with. It hadn't been uncommon for Padawan and Master pairings to be close like they were, for the Master to practically wrap their presence around their Padawan in situations where they believed it was safer. And had Ezra not seen Kanan's Master be cut down before his very eyes, not seen the marks the war left on Rex and on Quinlan and everyone who'd made it through, he might have fought back against it.

But he had seen those things, and as they drew closer to the ship, everyone holding their breath—other than Chopper, but he was a droid, they didn't have any breath to hold—

 _Emotion, yet peace._ Ezra heard Luke recite, and he smiled faintly at the memory of the blonde boy, sitting cross-legged before him. They'd been at the Lars farm, on Tatooine, like so many of Ezra's training memories were. But this one was inside, the air cool, floor cold on Ezra's bare feet, shadows cascading over the two boys, but they were the good shadows. The kind that protected people from burning twin suns. _Ignorance, yet knowledge._

Before Luke, hovering in the air, shuttering slightly as he lifted each part, twisting them through the air, lining them up, had been a lightsaber. Or, what was about to become Luke's lightsaber. The boy had been reciting the ancient Jedi Code, the one that had been from the old days from before the Republic had a hold over the Order. _Passion, yet serenity._

 _Chaos, yet harmony._ Ezra had chimed in, watching the different parts twirl and start to slide together, Luke's hands moving over and around them smoothly, in some kind of trace, his eyes closed. Death, yet the Force.

The pieces clicked together and formed a lightsaber hilt, which rose higher up, pressing against Luke's palm, and the boy had opened his eyes, fingers wrapping around the hilt. He twisted it around and flicked the switched.

Green light had illuminated the room.

Ezra breathed in and out, repeating the old code, as they crossed under the Imperial Destroyer, almost as if it was a prayer. His mental hold on Kanan tightened, even more, curling into himself, and he felt Kanan tense beside him.

Then the pilot's communicator lit up blue, signalling a transmission, although no hologram appeared.

 _"Attention, freighter,"_ the voice, which Ezra recalled as not being that of a clone, which he wasn't sure was good or bad, _"Relay identification and purpose for leaving Lothal at once, or be taken by force."_

"Oh, kriff," Sabine whispered as Hera nodded to Chopper, leaning forwards and pressing the button that would allow the other side to hear her voice.

"This is Hera Syndulla of the _Ghost_ , a VCX-100 light freighter. We're transporting supplies off-world to sell. Transmitting identification codes now."

Chopper whirred, already plugged in, and Ezra glanced at Sabine, who was holding onto the handhold so tightly he was half convinced she might rip it off when she tried to pull away.

They all waited. Ezra clung to the Force and Kanan like he was hanging over a cliff by one hand, waiting for any sign that things were about to go sideways in a horrible, mind breaking way. He'd lost enough. He didn't want to lose anyone else. He wouldn't lose anyone else.

The communicator flared and the voice was back.

 _"VCX-100 freighter, call sign_ Ghost _, dock immediately or be prepared to face the consequences. You are under arrest for suspicion of treason and terrorism."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Ge'tal'kad - red lightsaber, lit. red sword
> 
> Jedii - Jedi
> 
> Dar'jetii - Sith, lit. no longer a Jedi


	3. Truth enlightens the mind, but won't always bring happiness to your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Padawan's, four different views, climbing and running.

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Three: Truth enlightens the mind, but won't always bring happiness to your heart.

* * *

_Cal Kestis felt it a moment after his master did. The tear through the Force, the deaths of dozens, maybe hundreds of Jedi. Unlike his master, however, Cal's shields weren't ready to take on such a burden, weren't ready for the pain to slam into him, and the padawan crumbled to the ground, gasping with pain, hands rising to his head. He heard his master call his name, felt hands around his shoulders, but he couldn't think._

_It was like behind overwhelmed by his psychometry, except not just by one object. It was like he was touching ten, twenty, thirty objects, and being overwhelmed by them all at the same time, and all of them contained the deaths of dozens of living beings. Cal couldn't even breathe, it hurt so much._

"Cal!"

_No, no, no. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening, why was everyone gone? Where was everyone, they had to be here, where were they!_

"Cal, focus on me!"

_He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe?_

_And then it all went silent. Cal sucked in a heavy breath, staring up at his master, feeling his master's familiar shields wrapping tightly around his own, quieting the outside world, smoothing over the pain and the cracks that had formed in Cal's shields. It was peaceful._

_Cal stared up at his master, just existing in the peace for a long moment, sinking into their bond, letting his master wrap shields around him and quiet the pain and the voices and help him. He was limp against the lasat, tears streaming down his face from grief and pain, and every breath hurt like he'd been holding his breath for too long. Each one heaved, and Cal pressed against his master, trying to calm down._

_"What's happening?" he whispered, lifting his head to meet Jaro's worried gaze. "Master, what's happening!"_

_Arms tightened around him, and the bond pulled tighter around his presence in the Force. Neither one was choking him, but more of a fearful embrace, like Jaro thought he'd never get another chance to protect his padawan, ever again. "I don't know."_

_"They're gone." Cal stammered, and he couldn't feel the pain from before or the new deaths that surely had to have come between when Jaro had shielded him and now. "They're gone, what happened? What's happening, how are they—"_

_"Calm yourself." Jaro rumbled, and Cal went limp against his master, swallowing hard. He didn't know that soon, his master would fall to their allies on the ship. He didn't know that he'd lose his lightsaber. He didn't know that he'd be one of the only survivors. Cal had no idea what had just happened, what ripples had just torn through the Force, had altered the course of the universe forever._

* * *

_Bariss Offee ran through the Jedi Temple. Pain and death surrounded her, and she pushed it away, her heart thumping out a frantic pace as she sprinted, blue sabre twirling through the air, deflecting bolts of light back at those who sent them flying towards her. She didn't pause to help anyone, her terror overwhelming any logical thoughts she might have had—although some would say that running as she did was the logical choice._

_Bariss burst outside, and jumped up, into the air, boosting herself with the Force. She landed on one of the pillars that rose to the sky, pillars that were ready to support a new level of the Temple, a new level that Bariss was certain now, would never come to be built. Like Ahsoka once had, during the Death Watch bombing, Bariss jumped from her pillar to another, flipping through the air, deflecting the beam of burning energy that flew towards her, before landing, and jumping again._

_Jump, twist, deflect, land. Pause. Jump, twist, deflect, land. Over and over, four times, Bariss repeated the pattern, her final jump bringing her to the edge of the Temple, empty air behind her. She had to time it just right. She had to—_

_Now._

_Bariss took a shot to the side of her shoulder. It barely clipped her, but she slammed her free hand to her chest, near where it had hit, fingers covering the burn. She screamed, leaning backwards, the hand that held her lightsaber not letting go as she started to fall, down, down._

_Bariss remembered hearing somewhere that Corosaunt had over five thousand levels. Probably as a youngling, in her lessons. And she remembered wondering why anyone would need that many levels that covered an entire planet. She remembered wondering what had lived on Corosaunt before they'd built cities upon it. But now, as she fell, twisting through the air, hurriedly clipping her lightsaber to her waist, shoulder aching with pain that she could barely numb, Bariss could only wonder why they had built so many levels because she had to fall all of them before she could stop falling._

_Nobody was shooting at her anymore, for which she was grateful. But she could feel the fallen Jedi, every warrior of light who was gunned down by the warriors who they'd trusted and fought beside, and Bariss felt tears well up in her eyes. She wasn't one to cry, but so many had died. So many younglings and padawans and knights and masters and it hadn't even been a standard hour since she'd felt the first death rip through the Force._

_Bariss was still falling, but she wouldn't be for much longer. And she wouldn't die at the end of her fall. She wouldn't let it happen._

* * *

_Ahsoka Tano breathed in, and out. In, and out. Every breath was terrifying. Every moment that nobody came was another moment that she sat curled up between the broken ship and the ground, cold and wet and more scared than she had ever been before in her life. Her lightsabers, once warm, are now freezing under her fingers, the metal damp and slick with moisture. She wants to turn them on, feel the warmth they bring, the light, but she won't risk it._

Snips, run!

_Ahsoka closed her eyes tighter, tears rising to the surface, the moment playing over and over in her mind. Anakin, twisting, lightsaber humming through the air, deflecting beams back at the clones, back at their allies, their friends. Him turning around, his still-whole hand reaching out towards her, the Force shoving her backwards, out of the ship, the glass behind her shattering before she even touched it._

_Falling. Twisting through the air more on instinct than a conscious will. Flipping to slow her fall, using the Force to land safely, and using it to jump high, high away, far away, and land, only to jump again, and again. No blasters followed her as she ran across the surface of the planet, who's the name of which she'd already forgotten through the terror. Remembered the feeling right before everything had happened, her falling, tripping, Anakin catching her, lowering her to the ground, arms wrapped around her tightly._

They're dying. _He'd whispered in shock, their bond trembling with effort, trying to stay together as pain ripped through them both._ How is this happening?

_Something trailed down Ahsoka's cheeks. She couldn't tell if it was the rain or tears. She was cold and wet, and it was dark, and the Force was broken. She wanted to go back to the Temple. She wanted to spend time with Bariss, who'd try and teach her how to heal and she'd fail at learning and they'd laugh. She wanted to train with Obi-Wan and have him correct her Soresu forms and wanted to sleep in the same room that Anakin slept in, where she'd fall asleep to his soothing presence in the Force._

_Ahsoka wanted everything to be okay again. She hated the war, she hated the fact that the clones had to exist, she hated the Senate and she hated the Separatists and she hated the Republic for dragging the Order into the war and she wanted all the hate to go away and she wanted the peace that came with meditating with Master Yoda or Master Shaak Ti to come and replace it._

_Ahsoka curled in on herself more, wrapping her arms around her torso, the kyber crystals in her lightsabers. One that she'd found herself as a youngling, and one that Anakin had given her, as a gift. They were tiny sparks in the darkness that wrapped around her. Tiny sparks that swirled around her own muffled light._

* * *

Gone, gone, gone.

_Over and over, the single word screamed at Caleb, a silent screech that he couldn't ignore because it was gone, his bond. Gone. His Master, the woman who had protected him, kept him safe, guarded him, trained him, meditated with him, done everything with him for the last few years—gone. Just like that. Fallen, for him._

_Caleb stared out across the forest, sensing the clones. Entering the Force, even slightly, like he was now, tracking them so that they didn't find him, was painful, without Master Billaba's bond, which had been torn roughly from his mind, like—like—like—_

_He didn't even know. But it hurt. And the only way to stop it from hurting was to block off the Force, hide his presence completely, but doing that..._

_He couldn't do that. Doing that would end with him being discovered by the clones—or, with his luck, he'd run right into a group of them—and being killed. And then his Master would have protected him for nothing at all. And he wouldn't do that. It was bad enough that she'd died for him, but he wouldn't throw it away right away._

_It was getting dark out, Caleb noted. Which was good. There was something he wanted to do. Something he had to do, if only so that he could give his Master some semblance of respect and gratitude._

_Jumping down from the tree where he'd been hiding, Caleb used the Force to land silently, his hands trembling around the hilt of his lightsaber. He let out a shaky breath and started to walk forwards, slow and quiet, tracking the spots of light that were the clones through the Force, avoiding them as he headed towards the place that he'd only just escaped a few hours earlier. It was dark, and he couldn't see, but Caleb didn't dare turn on his lightsaber to help light up the path. He was putting himself in enough danger as it was._

_Finally, he arrived at the edge of the clearing. Silently, or, at least, as quietly as he could, Caleb hooked his lightsaber back onto his tunic's belt, and started to climb the tree closest to him. They were tall, arching into the sky like pillars that held up the clouds, with wide branches big enough and strong enough for a duel to be fought upon, so long as both fighters took care not to cut the branch they were balancing on. So for a teenager like Caleb, it was easy enough to use the Force to climb up._

_Once he was on a branch with a clear view in the meadow, Caleb stretched out a hand, focusing on his Master's lightsaber. It sparked in his mind, and he wrapped his Force signature around it, lifting it into the air, away from the corpse that had been left to rot. It spun around and around through the empty clearing, rising in the darkness towards him, closer and closer._

_Caleb's real fingers wrapped around the hilt, and he opened his eyes and smiled._

* * *

The planet Bracca was exactly friendly. It rained almost constantly on the planet, making the scrapper's jobs harder than they already were. Something that Cal Kestis knew better than most. As a rigger, his job was one of the most dangerous, but also one of the most profitable. Climbing on the outside of the wrecks, he ensured that there were secure paths for the other scrappers to move around on—or, secure, compared to the paths that Cal took to lay out the routes.

Today was no exception. The rain pelted down on the former Jedi padawan, streaming off his poncho and dripping off the edges of the material, falling before his eyes. As Cal hung from the side of a Clone Wars-era Star Destroyer, so much like the one that he'd been on only eight years prior, his hands were numb from the wind and rain, his legs dangling below him, as he shuffled along the edge, a length of cord slung over his chest like a bandolier.

He couldn't use the Force for anything flashy; he doubted he could even if he wanted to, but he didn't dare try. Cal Kestis, the Jedi padawan was supposedly dead, according to the holonet. It had been nauseating for him to watch face after face pass by on the screen the day that he'd found out they were circulating the images of both wanted Jedi and the dead. He'd seen so many people that he didn't know personally but knew in passing. People that he'd seen in the halls once or twice. People he knew personally.

He'd seen Caleb Dume's face cross past, still alive. But Master Billaba was dead. Master Yoda's image had never come up; Cal was certain that the old Jedi was alive if only because if he was dead, the Empire would be screaming it louder than anything else. Anakin Skywalker was reportedly dead, alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi. Cal knew them, in passing. Barely. Anakin's padawan, Ahsoka Tano, they'd trained together a few times. Ahsoka came up alive, thank the Force.

So many were dead. Names that Cal knew. Tulp, Kainzzee, Vos, Ry, Oli. Faces he knew but had no names for. And just nameless faces, passing by one after another. Cal had watched his master's face cross past, a red 'X' smeared across the lasat's face. He watched his face appear a minute later, also crossed out.

That day had been when Cal had taken a knife, and sliced his hair, cutting it nearly to the scalp. He'd been scarred by the landing, and he'd ditched the Jedi robes within hours of waking up on Bracca, but he was utterly terrified of being recognized. He flinched every time someone called his name, terrified that they'd notice he was the same boy who was declared dead on the posters. He changed. He wasn't Cal Kestis anymore. He wasn't a Jedi. He wasn't a padawan. He was Cal, son of a pair of drunks who'd abandoned him while buzzed. A pair of drunks who'd hit him, he told Prauf, the abednedo who had gotten him his job, as a way to explain everything away.

It worked on the nightmares. It worked to explain away that way Cal startled at his name. It worked when he hid at the sight of blasters. It worked on the scars from the landing and the fight. It worked on everything that Cal had to hide. The only thing that it couldn't hide was Jaro's lightsaber and the Force. And Cal didn't show anyone either of those things.

He still used the Force. If he didn't, he was sure that he'd have been killed or discovered within a year. He'd used the mind trick that Ry had been so good at using to make anyone who got too close in the wrong ways go away. The Force warned him when someone was drunk at the restaurants or on the train when someone was about to hit him. It helped him stay alive while he worked as a rigger.

It helped him. But if he dropped his shields... Something had gone wrong. During Order 66. And he couldn't drop the shields anymore.

Which meant he couldn't find out if Caleb was still alive or if his body hadn't been found yet. He couldn't even try and contact Master Yoda. He couldn't release feelings or emotions into the Force. And it made him feel _trapped_.

But being able to climb anywhere, no matter how dangerous, was something that helped. He could talk to himself without getting any looks, without fearing he'd be overheard. And it was a lot safer in his opinion. All he had to do was trust himself, something he'd been doing for years now.

Coming to the end of his ledge, Cal started to swing his legs back and forth, hanging by his fingertips from the ledge, picking up momentum. On the backswing, he almost let go, hovering for a moment in the space between gravity and his upwards momentum, before gravity wins over, and he swings back down. Letting go, Cal flew forwards, landing on the top of one of the back engines of the ship. Crouching, Cal glanced around. The ship was creaking slightly, but no more than to be expected. He heard a roll of thunder break through the pounding rain and wind, mixing with the sounds of scrappers.

Cal pulled the rope off from around his shoulders and started to fasten one end to a part of the engine, tying it tight and secure, pulling at the long end to make sure that it wasn't about to slip off. Confident that it wasn't about to, he gathered up the coil that was by his foot and launched it over the side of the engine. It unwound as it fell through the air, and he watched it plummet. It jerked slightly once it was all unwound, and Cal took ahold of the cord in his hands, looping it around his palms and back in such a way that he could slide down unharmed. It was easier than going hand over hand.

He stepped off and started to slide down. Controlling his speed with his hand's grip and placement, he went slowly, enjoying the moment of peace. The engines didn't shelter him that much from the rain, and it slapped against his eyes and nose, the angle of his poncho's hood no longer protecting his face. His master's lightsaber— _his_ lightsaber now, and wasn't that a horrifying thought? Cal dropped his lightsaber years ago, and what kind of Jedi dropped their lightsaber, no, what kind of Jedi lost their lightsaber like that? It was drilled into them from the start. Lightsabers are your responsibility. You have to take care of them. How could Cal even hope to take care of what remained of his master, if he couldn't take care of his lightsaber?

In any case, the hilt, longer than a regular hilt, long as a Temple Guard's lightsaber hilt, swung back and forth where it was hidden under his poncho, hanging just off his shoulder blade, where it was hidden from sight. The only way anyone could spot it would be if they tore his poncho off, and he didn't let anyone do that. The hilt was a tiny spark in the darkness, speaking to him. The only thing he could sense through the Force anymore. At this point, he couldn't even sense other people unless they're a few steps away.

Cal slid down towards the ground, holding himself up in almost a sitting position. He learned to climb as a youngling, teaching himself at first. It had been a pretty big scare to the crèchemasters when they'd found him hanging from the top of a pillar by one hand, not bothered by the height. After a couple of similar accidents, they'd taught him how to climb properly. It had only encouraged him to do it more, but they'd admitted that at least he knew how to do it somewhat safely.

He breaths in, long and slow, the moisture in the air thicker the lower he gets to the ground. Just as slowly, his eyes closed, with no worries, Cal let the breath out, taking another one in.

"Hey, Cal."

Cal opened his eyes, looking down at Prauf. He was almost at the end of the rope, which didn't hit the ground. It came close, but the end of it was still above Prauf's head. With a sigh, Cal dropped the cord he held his lower hand and gripped the section above his head instead. He unwound the cord from around himself and dropped. The landing jolted his ankles and knees, as he couldn't use the Force to slow himself in front of Prauf—not when they were this close to each other. "Hey."

"Anything interesting up there?"

Cal looked back up at where he'd come from. He'd have to climb the rope again, this time bringing tools to make an easier path for the scrappers. With a sigh, Cal stood up straight, looking back at Prauf. "Metal. That's about it."

"Huh."

Cal shrugged and started to head back to where the tools he needed where, when he felt it. It ripped through the air, slashing through Cal's shields, tearing through them like a lightsaber through solid stone. Cal cried out, hands flying to his head, the hood of his poncho falling back around his shoulders, his nails digging into the scalp above each ear, and he found himself on his knees.

It was like being back there. When it happened. Except, this time, Cal didn't have a master who could wrap his broken shields with their own and protect him. This time, Cal had nobody other than the abednedo who was crouched before him, saying something, trying to help, but he couldn't help. Because the pain was something that Cal hadn't felt before. It wasn't Order 66 over again, it wasn't even that pain rising anew. It was like someone had stabbed the Force in the chest with a lightsaber.

Cal gritted his teeth, nails biting into his skin, drawing blood for sure. The redhead could breathe, just barely, every gasp full of panic and terror. But he had to pull it together. Had to pull it together, had to shield himself. Hide his presence, because someone Force-sensitive had to have noticed that someone was screaming their pain out into the Force. He wasn't exactly _quiet_ about it.

He approached it like he approached his psychometry _._ He was in control. The memories, the echoes, they weren't his. He had to separate himself from them. He had to separate himself from the pain.

With more effort than he'd ever used before, Cal started to pull away. It was like he'd glued himself to something, and that something was the pain. But the glue wasn't dry yet. He could still pull away.

With a gasp, Cal broke the connection, and slammed his shields together, tightening them around himself, the migraine already crashing at the inside of his skull. Compared to the pain he'd just felt, the migraine was a welcome relief.

"Cal?" Prauf asked, voice filled with concern. The Abednedo was holding his shoulders, crouched before the human, and through the touch, through the close proximity, Cal could feel his emotions, even with his tightly wound shields. Fear, worry, horror. Sucking in a desperate breath, Cal forced himself to calm down. His heartbeat started to slow down. His breathing returned to normal. He met Prauf's eyes. "What was that?"

"I don't know." Cal croaked, feeling the tears in his eyes, his hands dropping away from his head, both of them falling on his knees. He stared down at them, the bright red blood that was caught under the nails and smeared on his fingertips, watery and thin, the rain landing on his skin, turning the water pink. It wasn't a lie. He had no idea what could cause that, other than another round of Order 66 where everyone died in the same moment, and that wasn't possible. There weren't enough Force-sensitives for that to happen. "But it hurt."

"I got that," Prauf said, zero humour coming through. "Are you sick? Some of the guys on the scrapyard two over have come down with a nasty bug. Maybe you have it. You should head back."

"I—I—" Cal stammered, out, realizing his hands were shaking. "I—"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cal Kestis and Prauf from the Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order video game. The other characters from the game are unlikely to appear, although there may be references to them. Since this is very AU, I'm mostly just yanking Cal out of Bracca a bit early and shoving him to the others.
> 
> And yes. Barriss, in this story, never bombed the Temple. I liked that storyline, but I also really like good-Jedi Barriss. And also, I needed a healer and I'm not totally sure Luminara is one.


	4. Ignore your instincts at your peril

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people reconnect, headaches suck, and the Force is here.

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Four: Ignore your instincts at your peril.

* * *

"You sure you're okay?" Prauf asked, still full of concern. They were on the midday train, heading back to the settlement where they both lived. Cal was hunched over, poncho dripping on the floor and seat, his neck wet from the water that had trickled from the material of his hood onto his skin. He shook his head slowly.

"No."

He wasn't okay in any sense of the word. His head was still pounding. He was exhausted, his shields still had cracks in them that he was struggling to repair, and someone had to have noticed him. There was no way he had escaped detection from one of the Inquisitors or the Emperor or Darth Vader. But... maybe Caleb had felt him. Or someone, someone had to have survived the Order, someone had to have noticed.

But why would they come? Then there would be two dead Jedi, instead of one.

The train _clitter-clank-clunked_ along the tracks and Cal closed his eyes, focusing on his shields again. If he was lucky, he'd be able to pass as just another worker. If he was lucky, they'd find some poor guy who was Force-sensitive and had no idea and kill them instead. The thought made Cal want to throw up, but he was too scared to feel bad for thinking it. His kyber crystals hummed, and he tentatively reached out and drew their light inside his shields, muting its presence in the Force, covering it with his own. A lightsaber would give him away for sure. Even he couldn't explain it away as something he'd found in a wreck; he would have turned it in for the credits, or to distance himself from it, in any case.

The train shuttered to a stop, and Cal opened his eyes, a hole widening in his chest. Something was wrong. Something was wrong _here_ , on Bracca. Close to him, very close. Cal swallowed, hiding his hands under his poncho, as the doors to the next train car opened, revealing a pair of white-clad stormtroopers. Cal's heart skipped a beat.

The armour was almost the same as the clone trooper armour. Similar enough that his beaten-up heads first thought was that they _were_ clones. But it only took a moment for him to realize that wasn't true. The helmets were different, the eyes were different, and they didn't have the same weapons, and it was just _different_. Off, somehow. Someone had changed it.

"Inspection." one of them said, voice modulated by the helmet, and Cal rose to his feet, alongside Prauf, and the others, who'd taken the early half-night half-day shift. They were all dressed similarly, even if they all looked different. Cal's head pounded, and he stumbled slightly, falling against Prauf, who, thankfully, grasped his elbow, supporting him discreetly. Cal half-wished that the Abednedo was Force-sensitive, if only so that Cal could thank him how Jedi did, through the Force. Spoken thanks never quite matched up to what the Jedi did for thanks within the Order. But if Prauf was a Jedi or Force-sensitive, then he'd be in danger too.

They were hauled off the train and lined up in the rain. Cal moved to lift his hood to protect his head from the water, but one of the 'troopers held up his blaster, aiming at Cal's head, and he lowered his hands, looking at the stormtrooper's feet. The 'trooper stepped away, and Cal let out a breath of relief, only to tense once more when the ship landed before them.

He didn't really notice many details other than _Sith_ , _Sith_ , _Sith_. Well, not Sith. But they were Dark Side users for sure, and there were two of them. Cal glanced up, one hand sliding towards his lightsaber's hilt, arms hidden by his poncho, fingers brushing the end of it. He didn't grab it, not yet.

He heard them mention something about Jedi, and the woman in black was walking down the line, coming closer and closer. His shields were cracking under the pressure she was laying down—or maybe the other one was putting on the pressure, or both of them, he wasn't sure—and he guessed she was doing it to everyone, testing them. She stopped, right before him, and Cal swallowed.

"So. There is one."

The Force screamed at him, and he lunged backwards, out of the way of the red sabre that cut through the air where he'd been standing, the rain hissing as it changed to steam on contact with the burning blade. Cal got his feet under him, and drew the lightsaber from behind him, activating the blade, and taking up his defensive stance. He felt more than heard the surprise of the other scrappers, eyes flicking over to the second Dark Side user. Who was staying perfectly still. Apparently, Cal was the first one's prize.

"I've seen that stance before." the Inquisitor, the Second Sister, he recalled someone calling her, said, stepping forwards, past the line of scrappers, who'd all turned to look at him, look at the blue light that came from the sabre. "Tell me, Padawan, did I kill your Master?"

" _No_ ," Cal replied, rain dripping into his eyes, and she lunged, slashing down on him. He blocked, twisting away, and slashed at her hip. His attack was blocked, and they traded a few blows, both testing each other before they split apart.

"So you have some training." she mused, circling around him. He focused on her, keeping her in sight at all times. "Shame."

She attacked. He defended, stumbling backwards across the ground, struggling to get his footing right. He couldn't open up, no matter what the Force was telling him he should do. All that lay that way was the pain. Pain from the Order, pain from whatever had happened earlier. Pain from the lack of Master-Padawan bond. Pain from all that. He barely parried the next strike, and she scoffed.

He was going to die, Cal realized. He was going to die on the planet that his master had died on—close enough, at least—wielding the lightsaber that belonged to his master, he was going to die, and his master's sacrifice meant nothing. Something surged up in him, and he dropped his shields because he needed to do something to save himself, and if he was going to die anyway, what the hell, he'd try it.

It hurt. A _lot_. But something else happened too. Her next attack was blocked perfectly and he spun around her in a quick motion, kicking her in the side of the hip, sending her stumbling away. The brief contact was enough for his unshielded, raw Force-presence. Memories flashed through him, echoes of the Force. She'd escaped the Order. Only to fall to the Dark Side. He saw her train in a single second, hours from different times all at once, almost overwhelming him. Cal flinched backwards, stumbling over the rough ground, the rain pelting his ears and neck and face.

She spun around and activated the second side of her lightsaber. Cal twirled his own lightsaber around in a pattern around himself. His psychometry had always been an advantage back in the Temple. It was how he'd become Jaro Tapal's padawan. It was how he'd won many fights as a youngling. With it, he might have a chance, and so he forced his shields back up, and gripped the lightsaber tighter.

The two went at each other. This time, Cal flung himself forwards, instead of waiting for her to strike. She was all offence, without any defence. Very Ataru-style, without any of Ataru's characteristic benefits, such as the acrobatics and whatnot. It was like she was using Soresu for all attacks. Which wasn't exactly a lightsaber form that worked well, when used how she used it.

Their blades clashed. The Force ran around Cal, pricking at his skin and blood, warning him of her hits, guiding his feet on the slick ground, powering his strikes. It wanted him to win. It didn't want the Second Sister to win. Pressing his advantage, Cal backed the Second Sister up towards the cliff, just in time for someone to climb over the edge. Dressed in dark blue, a form-fitting combat suit with a matching pair of boots and a hood that covered their hair, a lightsaber in hand.

They linked up with him immediately, meaning they were a Jedi. Within a heartbeat, Cal knew several things. She was a Mirilan. She was trained. She was light.

She rolled to her feet, lightsaber flicking on with a hiss, blue like his masters. She took up a Soresu stance, beside him, and the Second Sister growled furiously at the pair. "Jedi scum."

"The only scum I know of is you." the Mirilan replied, and she was so much like Master Unduli. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd been _trained_ by the woman; and it wasn't impossible since Mirilan's tended to take Mirilan's as their Padawans, as a part of their culture. "For you have Fallen."

The Second Sister swung, blades flashing, and both Cal and the Jedi jumped away, out of range, before attacking from opposite sides. The link the girl had made with him pulsed in his mind, right beside the empty slot where Jaro's bond had sat. It wasn't a bond like the training one, it was a combat bond. Jedi often formed them in battle, so that they could work in unison, and not accidentally hit each other, and Cal had used them before.

Blue against red. The hum of kyber crystals filled Cal's mind, throbbing almost painfully in how familiar it was, and he met the Mirilan's gaze, for only a second. That second communicated what words could not, and Cal twisted away from the attack he blocked, backing towards the cliff face. The Second Sister radiated smugness and he knew that she thought she was now winning, at least against him. And had the Mirilan not showed up, she might have won.

Because Cal was exhausted. He was pulling on the Force to sustain himself, but between his damaged shields, the pain that still stabbed at him from whatever had happened earlier on in the day, his psychometry and his previous exhaustion, he wouldn't have lasted very long against the Second Sister. He backed up, reaching down the combat bond, questioning the Mirilan, who returned the question with _do it or we die_.

Good enough for him. Cal ducked the Second Sisters slash, dropping into a crouch, and kicked away, low to the ground, using the Force to throw himself over the edge of the cliff. For a moment, everything was wrong. He was falling. He was tired and hurt and there was nobody there to catch him. He saw the Mirilan jump off the cliff above him, diving down after him, clipping her lightsaber to her waist. He'd turned his off halfway through his jump and now clung to it for dear life.

The Mirilan girl grabbed him by the shoulders, and they twisted around until they were falling feet-first. The Force wrapped around them, slowing the fall. They went straight through something that Cal registered as being an airlock barrier and landed. His ankles and knees didn't jar. The Force slipped away with a whisper of _safe now_ , and Cal blinked a few times, his head spinning as the Force left him, leaving him even more tired than before.

He blacked out.

* * *

Barriss Offee caught the human teenager—or was he a man?—before he slammed his head on the floor. Reaching towards the doors switch with one hand, she used the Force to activate the doors, and they slid shut. Glancing up at the front of the small vessel, she could see R2-D2 still plugged in, and through the glass panes, see Bracca passing by as they rose into the air.

There was a small jolt as they entered hyperspace, and the pilot's seat spun around, to reveal a young, human teenager. She wore clothing that someone who'd been to her planet of choice—for lack of a better term—would identify on sight. Tatooine. Her dark hair was braided around her head like a crown, and a silver lightsaber hilt hung at her waist, bouncing off her leg as she jogged towards Barriss.

"Is he okay?" Leia asked, falling to her knees beside the two. Barriss stood up, holding her hands out above the Jedi, and used the Force to lift him into the air, and towards one of the few bunks. The ship was small, practically a large U-wing fighter, with just a pair of bunks, a cockpit, and a very small refresher. Setting the man down, Barriss stepped towards him, beginning her medical checks.

Another Jedi.

Another spark of hope.

Another chance to rebuild their home.

Another sibling saved.

* * *

Leia Skywalker never had an easy life. Her birth alone broke the laws of her people, within years of it, her people had been slaughtered. She'd been forced into hiding. She'd grown up on a planet of twin suns, twins like her birth. She'd spent the past eight years on that planet. On a planet where the sand was the most common thing to see, where she'd been sunburned and cut and hit with heatstroke. Watched the desert scavengers tear settlements to shreds.

She'd never had an easy life.

But she'd never asked for one.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Leia asked, hovering over Barriss shoulder. The Mirilan was halfway through the medical checks—Leia knew, she'd been the subject of said checks more than a few times—and didn't look up, continuing to check the man's Force signature. "He feels... cracked."

It sounded a bit mean, she admitted. But it felt like it was accurate. He was cracked. Leia remembered Obi-Wan teaching them how Sith made crystals bleed—it was horrifying, she'd wanted to smack Luke for asking afterwards—and this man, he felt like he was one of those crystals, except the Sith hadn't cracked him properly. Just made a little crack, but it wasn't bleeding just yet. He could still heal. A fracture, maybe.

"His shields are broken," Barriss said in her doctor's voice. It was sharper than her regular tone, all business. When she used it, it meant that Leia was supposed to listen because important things were happening. Part of Leia wished that her master had a tone like Barriss' doctor's voice; it would make knowing when she was supposed to pay attention for real much easier. "It's not new damage either. Someone will have to guide him to help him repair them. It's likely an aftereffect of the mental pain from Order 66."

Leia winced. She knew what that was like. Ahsoka had almost gotten that kind of damage from the Order; the only reason she hadn't was because Anakin had reinforced her shields with her own when they'd first been hit by the mental pain of it. Afterwards, she'd had to meditate, repairing them. Her master had described it once, and Leia wasn't keen on revising that particular lesson again. Hearing it once had been enough to kick her into gear about shoring up her shields.

"But he'll be fine?"

"I believe so, yes," Barriss said, gently resting a hand on the man's stomach, fingers only, arched. Her other hand went to his forehead, in the same position, and a faint blue glow rose from where they were touching. "I'm going to do a deeper check. Can you ensure that we return to Tatooine in once piece and that I am not disturbed?"

"Yeah." Leia nodded and headed towards the cockpit. She hit the panel that would shut the door with her fist, with a bit more force than needed, and slumped into the pilot's seat, leaning back in it with a sigh. R2 beeped at her, and Leia groaned. "Artoo..."

He beeped again, and she rolled her eyes. "I don't know who he is, okay? Red hair. Human. Duel-sided lightsaber. That's all I know, other than really crappy shields right now. But you knew that since that's how we found him in the first place."

Artoo made a few more sounds at her, and Leia sat up straight, pulling the chair into it's piloting position. "Okay. We're going to make three lightspeed jumps before we jump to Tatooine. Take us to the edge of the Mid Rim, we'll circle a planet when we come out of each one. Got it?"

Artoo replied with a confirmation, his... whatever it was called, Leia had no clue, spinning in the port, making the calculations they needed. Leia flicked a few switches, checking their fuel and engines before she activated the scan that would check for trackers. When nothing came up, Leia wrapped her hands around the controls, and let out a breath.

"Dropping out of lightspeed," she announced, reaching up to the lever that hung above her. She pulled it back, and with a shutter, the modified U-wing dropped into realspace. Leia's grip on the controls tightened, and she turned the ship, aiming to circle around the back of the gas giant that they'd stumbled upon. "You want to contact Ahsoka, drop her a message saying that we found someone? He looks to be about her age, right?"

A murmur of _how the hell should I know_ filled the cockpit, and Leia kicked the droid with her toe. Not enough to do anything, just a silent telling-off. In answer, Artoo spouted a wave of curses, and Leia sighed, twisting the controls to go closer to the gas planet. Diving through the red and orange, it did cross her mind that maybe it was the kind of gas that she'd heard Quinlan tell her mother about once, in one of his crazy stories, where it ate away at metal and skin alike, chewing through ships with ease. But Artoo hadn't stopped her from entering, and he cared about her as much as he cared about himself, if not more.

It was fine.

They spent a few minutes crossing over the side of the planet, cutting through the gas, before Leia pulled them out, and made the jump to hyperspace. She let go of the controls, leaning back and watching the dizzying blue-white-black of hyperspace pass by in a swirling tunnel. Wrapping her arms around herself, she closed her eyes. "Wake me up before we drop out, would you?"

A few beeps later, Leia sunk into her meditation. It wasn't something she liked personally, but it was a hell of a lot easier to slip into mediation than sleep, at least for her; Luke could do either within a heartbeat, and she did admit that she was jealous of that skill. But she wouldn't admit that to Luke. No way. Sibling rivalry, and all that. But when she really wanted to, Leia could. And with a Jedi on board who was in a meditative state, healing another Jedi, it wasn't hard to hook onto Barriss' flow, not enough to bother her, or distract her, but enough to just... mimic it, which made sliding into mediation much easier.

* * *

Cal was floating. Everything was dark. And quiet. It was peaceful. Calm. He liked it.

He couldn't remember what he was supposed to be doing because surely, he had to have been doing something, right? He couldn't remember though. And it was nice here. Nothing hurt. Nothing was scary. He wasn't afraid of—he didn't know what he'd been afraid of. He couldn't remember anymore. But for some reason, that didn't bother him. In fact, it was kind of nice.

He could feel light. Warm. Soothing. Peaceful. But Cal wasn't sure where it was coming from, not did he think he cared. Were his eyes open? He wasn't sure about that either.

"Cal Kestris."

The voice was familiar. Cal found himself sitting in a room full of light, cross-legged on a stool. Tan and cream colours crossed his vision, soothing and serene. But what really drew his attention was the lifeform before him. A small, wrinkly humanoid, who couldn't have come much further up than slightly above Cal's knee when they were both standing. In brown robes, a cane balanced across his knees, the green creature smiled up at him, two ears sticking out on either side. "Come far, have you."

Cal blinked slowly. "Do I know you?"

The creature laughed, seemingly delighted that Cal was speaking to them. "Know me? Yes, yes, once, you might have. I am _Yoda_."

Cal blinked again, just as slowly as before, then shook his head from side to side. "I don't—I'm sorry."

Yoda waved it away with a hand, leaning forwards, still smiling. "Found others, have you, yes?"

"Others?"

"Hm," Yoda said thoughtfully, humour infused into his voice, his stance, his words and eyes. It was strange, and Cal found himself smiling back at the little alien. "Others. Yes. The others, you will meet soon, I think. You have already met some, have you not?"

"I don't know," Cal said, and Yoda was silent, waiting. He looked around the room, sunlight streaming in through a window, between the gaps in the blinds. He felt like there should be noise, a murmur of sorts, background noise. But instead, there was nothing. Not even the hum of—of something. He couldn't remember what. "Where are we?"

"Our minds," Yoda said confidently, tapping his forehead with one clawed finger, his smile changing into something that was closer to a smirk. "In the Force. Neither here nor there. Together, we are, always. For now, closer."

That made a strange amount of sense. Cal found himself relaxing even more than before, measuring his breaths, in and out. In and out. He felt his heartbeat slow, pounding inside his chest, uniform and on time. He closed his eyes, realizing he was tired. But when he opened them, Yoda was gone. The room was gone. But he wasn't floating anymore. He was standing in a white space, blinding white. Across from him, a boy stood, but he wasn't facing Cal.

He was scared, and the way he was standing was strange, making Cal think he was leaning against someone Cal couldn't see. Taking a step forwards, Cal reached for the boy's shoulder. His foot touched down, and the step echoed around the space, low and thundering in Cal's chest. His next step sounded the same, and Cal rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. He was wearing an orange flight suit, his hair black-blue and curled around his neck and ears.

"Hello?" Cal asked, and his voice echoed like his footsteps, but it didn't come back. "Do you know where we are?"

The boy didn't move. He was breathing, Cal could tell, his shoulders rising and falling under Cal's fingers, but he didn't react to Cal's voice. Cal stepped around to the front of the boy, every step ringing through the room, and looked at his face. Wide blue eyes, a deep blue, one that Cal hadn't ever seen before. One of his hands was almost at his hip, where a strange device sat.

It was humming in the Force, just like the boy was, and just like Cal was. Cal didn't know how he knew that; he just did.

Cal reached for the object, and his fingers brushed the surface. He cried out, back arching as he was thrown into the echoes of the object, but not just the object. The echoes of its master, of the boy.

_"Ezra, run!"_

_"Chaos, yet harmony."_

_"Do you sense your crystal?"_

_"I am one with the Force."_

_"The Jedi are traitors!"_

_"It's called Order 66."_

_"My name is Caleb. Caleb Dume."_

_"Leia Skywalker. Are you going to fight or what?"_

_"Oh, kriff."_

Cal screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed as everything came rushing back, his master, his bond being torn away, the Jedi falling around him, crashing to Bracca, fighting the Second Sister, meeting Caleb for the first time, the Mirilan who'd helped him, Order 66, nearly falling off a Separatist cruiser, walking through the Temple, the latest stab of pain through the Force.

Losing his lightsaber, meeting his master for the first time, mediating and making his lightsaber. Exploring Ilum. Fighting with the 13th. Deflecting blaster bolts and staying droids. Watching the clones walk forwards, shooting endlessly.

And then peace.

_"The thing about psychometry is that we don't control it." a man, with a yellow stripe across his nose and cheeks said, sitting before Cal, his legs crossed, Cal's folded under him. "We can try and get a reading off of any object we want, but if the object doesn't want to remember, then nobody's going to see what it's been through, no matter how good they are."_

_Cal blinked at the man before him, who held up a lightsaber. "I want you to touch this, Cal. I know it's history, it's got a good memory. Nothing's going to hurt you. What you're going to do is separate yourself from the memories. They're not yours, and I'll be right here, ready to help you out if things go wrong. Think you can do that?"_

_Cal nodded and reached out, fingers trembling. They brushed against the hilt, and he was thrown back into a scene. A young Togruta boy was holding a training sabre in hand, shaking with fear. Across from him, a Twi'lek girl with a green blade looked a great deal more confident. She darted forwards, and the blades crossed. The boy's eyes lit up with a realization, and he swung the sabre back at the girl, who blocked it, both of them starting to smile._


	5. Survival is one step on the path to living

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Five: Survival is one step on the path to living.

* * *

Cal woke up in a healing trance.

It wasn't the first time he'd done it. Just about every youngling had at some point. Training sabres didn't stop burns and when you had the Force, there were accidents with children accidentally throwing each other across the room in fits of rage or jumping higher than they meant to. Things happened. So it wasn't anything new. But the person doing it, the place they were doing it, those were new.

He drew in a gasping breath and the healer's eyes flew open, the trance ripped away. Cal braced himself, expecting for his mind to be assaulted by whatever it was that was always there, but nothing came. Slowly, the tension slipped out of him, and he met the woman's eyes. She was the Mirilan who'd helped him. Her eyes were wide, but not fearful, instead warier.

"Where am I?" Cal croaked, and the Mirilan stood up, brushing off her knees. "Who are you?"

"I," the Mirilan said, doing a small curtsey. He couldn't tell if it was a joke, if she was mocking him, or if it was part of her culture. Or maybe just her. "Am Bariss Offee, Jedi Knight, former Padawan of—"

"Master Unduli." Cal breathed, and Barriss nodded, smiling serenely down at him. Her eyes were blue, and diamonds were tattooed across the bridge of her nose, and under her eyes. "I remember her."

"But not me?" Barriss said, and he knew she was teasing him. "No worries. Now, remind me; who are you?"

"Cal Kestis," Cal said, trying to sit up. Barriss's hand pressed down on his chest, and he let her shove him back onto the cot or bed or whatever he was on. "What—"

"You—" Barriss said, eyes blazing, voice filled with the tone that he knew she picked up from the Temple Healers because nobody else could possibly teach someone to communicate such quiet fury that wasn't anger at all and power in a single word other than the Healers, "—are going to lay down. And tell me how in the name of the Force your shields are so badly damaged that you almost died from a disturbance in the Force that I didn't even _feel_."

Oh, kriff. That conversation was going to be _so fun_.

* * *

Cal had only just finished explaining the issues with his shields when there was a jolt that meant they were either entering or exiting hyperspace. A second or so later, the cockpit door whooshed open, revealing a young, teenaged human girl, her hair done up around her head, wearing thin white robes, a lightsaber at her hip, seemingly made of wood.

Her eyes lit up the moment they fell on him. "You're not dead!"

"Leia," Barriss warned, but the Padawan; she had to be a Padawan, there was no way she was a Knight yet, she was what? Twelve? Thirteen at the most. All the same, Leia ignored the warning, practically bouncing forwards to get a better look at Cal.

"Who was your Master? What's your name? What form do you use? Why are you cracked?"

"W-what?" Cal spluttered at the last question. "Cracked?"

"Like a lightsaber crystal that's been bleed. But you're not that far gone." Leia tilted her head to the left, rapping her knuckles against her right ear like she was knocking on a door. "I don't know. Does that make sense?"

"It's certainly an accurate description," Barriss said, rising from the kneeling position she'd taken up during his story. "Where are we?"

"Just dropped out of hyperspace. We're on the wrong side, should get there in a few minutes." Leia sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. "Who are you?"

"Cal," Cal replied, twisting his head so he could focus on the girl. "Who are you?"

"Leia Skywalker."

Cal frowned, recalling the event that had the entire Temple in an uproar. Anakin Skywalker's kids. "I thought you were dead. I thought everyone was dead."

"Not everyone," Leia assured him, radiation excitement and joy, like a star about to explode. She was fidgeting where she sat, fingers playing with the fabric of her pants or her hair or tapping against each other, shifting constantly, spilling over with energy. "Lots of us survived! Well... relatively."

* * *

Tatooine, Cal decided within two seconds of stepping off of the U-wing and onto the planet, sucked. The sand was everywhere. There were two suns. He felt like he was about to go up in flames if he didn't get out of the sun as soon as possible. Barriss didn't look much better, rather, she looked worse than him, pulling her hood low over her face to try and shadow herself, and hiding her bare hands in it, behind her neck. Leia didn't seem all that bothered, easily skipping across the planet's surface, to what Cal could only describe as an igloo made of sandstone.

Her lightsaber hilt and clothing made a lot more sense now. A metal hilt like his own would absorb the heat of the twin suns and burn the user's hands unless they wore gloves—he wasn't about to wear gloves in this heat—but a wooden one, made of pale material like Leia's, would take longer to heat up. And her clothes were clearly suited for the planet's climate.

She skidded across the rippling dunes and jumped into what looked to be some kind of massive well that was set beside the rocky igloo. Cal leaned over the edge, to see that it was some kind of courtyard. Some metal structure was arching up in the middle, and in the stone walls around it, doors were carved. Bariss started down the steps, as Leia darted into one of the open doorways, calling out. Cal followed Barriss, his hood lifted high over his head. The material wasn't suited for the desert, but it was something at least.

"Here." Barriss gestured towards the entrance that Leia had run into, letting Cal take the lead. He stepped inside, to what seemed to be some kind of a cross between a living room and dining room. His footsteps echoed in the cool space, the temperature difference extreme. Cal dropped his hood, eyes roaming over the inhabitants. Leia, of course, who was practically dancing around a boy of similar age to her, dressed practically the same—Luke, Cal guessed. Sitting at the table was a middle-aged human man, wearing clothing like the twins, and a Togruta female, who was dressed in only somewhat similar clothing.

The Togruta spun around in her seat, lekku swinging with the motion, as the human rose, eyes on Cal, who's breath caught in his throat. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Leia Skywalker. Barriss Offee. Meaning, the Togruta was—

"Cal!" Ahsoka cried, throwing herself at him, arms wrapped around him tightly. It was her, he realized belatedly, returning the embrace. Ahsoka Tano. The Padawan who'd taught him Jar'Kai and parts of Ataru. The Padawan who was famous for having a Master she took after in a million different ways, from ramming starships with her own ship, crazy plans that shouldn't have ever worked, and explosions. Lots of them. "I can't believe you're here."

"I-I—" Cal stammered out, and her grip tightened, as she burned through the Force, bright and safe and warm. Her shields were still up, he knew, but she'd linked with him, similar to how the combat bond had worked. But it wasn't a combat bond. It was a sort of greeting bond. Another Jedi/Force-sensitive exclusive ability. "I thought everyone was dead," he whispered, realizing they were on their knees, holding on to each other far too tightly.

"Not that easy," she whispered back, and they stayed there for a long moment. Cal could hear Leia talking to Luke, who occasionally cut her off or asked her to slow down. He could hear someone getting a glass of water, and footsteps coming closer. Ahsoka let go, and they both rose. Cal found himself looking at Ahsoka's grand-master. The Negotiator.

"Master Kenobi," Cal said, rising and moving to bow, only to be pulled into another hug. "Oh."

"Glad to see you," Obi-Wan said. His hug wasn't as tight as Ahsoka's, nor as long, but it was still something of a shock for it to happen. Cal blinked at the man once he let go, sure that confusion ran across his face. "Bariss sensed your pain through the Force. I only wish we could have helped sooner."

"You didn't know," Cal muttered, looking away. "Not your fault."

* * *

Cal wasn't sure what to expect from the underground space, but it wasn't this. It was a network of handmade rooms, carved out of the natural desert stone. And there were a lot of people living in the structure. Not only Luke, Leia, Barriss, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, but at least a half dozen other people, and apparently, most of them weren't even at the house right then. Caleb had made it—Cal was pretty sure that if people kept telling him the survivor's names, he'd have a heart attack soon enough—and he was off-planet, training a Padawan. Stars, That was a surprise. Anakin was off-planet as well, with Quinlan Vos, Cal's old psychometry teacher.

But Padmé Amidala, the Skywalker twins mother, was there. Along with a pair of clones, who'd willing showed him the scars they'd gotten from removing their chips—he was still staying away for them for the time being—two droids, one gold one called C-3PO, and the astromech that had helped Leia and Bariss get him off Bracca. And Master Luminara Unduli.

Who he was currently meditating with. It had been a standard day since his arrival on Tatooine, and Luke had informed him—it was very clear that he was the serious one of the twins—that he wouldn't have to do chores until they got him 'proper desert clothing' and his shields were fixed. Then, however, he couldn't escape from them. Cal didn't mind; at least here there were other Jedi and he didn't have to worry about being discovered at any moment, as the group had an extensive security system and the entire place was muted in the Force. Somehow. Cal was pretty sure that was Master Kenobi and Unduli's doing.

But right now, he was supposed to be meditating. And fixing his shields.

It was a lot easier to make new shields than to repair the ones that he already had. They'd been broken a long time ago, and it would take a considerable amount of effort to bring them up to par. So, instead, he was making new ones. At first, he'd resisted the idea, but as Master Unduli was shielding him from detection, he'd reluctantly agreed.

He'd already gotten rid of the old shields. It was just building new ones that were the problem now. Master Unduli was guiding him in doing it, but he hadn't done the exercise in years, and almost had to learn it from the bringing again, as she lightly probed his mind, testing the new defences and showing him where he needed to work. It didn't feel like it was taking a long time, but when Cal opened his eyes in the Jedi Temple, he knew something had happened, and that he'd slipped into a deeper form of meditation.

He was on the roof of the temple, looking out across Corosaunt. At first, he was alone, with nobody in sight. But then, someone was there. A young girl, a teenager really. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. Wearing desert wrappings, her hair done in buns down her head. She was about his height, and they stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, before she spoke.

_"Where am I?"_

Her voice echoed strangely and had a sort of watery effect to it. Cal blinked. _"You're at the Jedi Temple."_

She shook her head. _"I don't know what that is. Who are you?"_

_"I'm Cal."_

_"Oh,"_ she said, turning away to look around the Temple. _"I haven't seen you before. But I've seen others here."_

 _"Others?"_ Cal asked, brows furrowing in confusion. _"What do you mean?"_

The girl waved her hands through the air, gesturing non-sensically. _"Sometimes it's a Togruta. She's nice. She tells me about—I don't remember. Her brother, I think. And there was a little green man here too. He was funny. Spoke strangely, but I liked him. But why are you here?"_

 _"I don't know,"_ Cal admitted. The girl sighed, turning back around to face him. _"Why do you think I'm here?"_

 _"I don't know."_ she echoed, and then he blinked. He was back on Tatooine. Master Unduli was kneeling before him, breaths slow and even, still in meditation. Shaking the vision off, Cal slid back into the trance, continuing to build his shields up once more.

* * *

Sabine felt like she was breathing loudly. Every breath, echoing so loudly that the _cingam'e_ had to have heard it, had to know that she was hiding between the panels of the ship. She felt claustrophobic like she was being crushed, but she didn't dare move. Only she and Ezra could fit in the space between the floor of the crew quarters and the ceiling of the main cargo bay. Beside her, Ezra's eyes were squeezed shut, and he looked like he was about to break down into tears, but he breathed slowly, quieter than she was breathing.

They were gone. The _cingam'e_ , that was. Gone, gone, gone. Along with Hera and Zeb and Kanan. At least Chopper had escaped detection, hiding in the cargo bay's unofficial secret floor panel. But Sabine didn't dare move, not yet. Ezra, however, did, pushing the floor panel above himself, up, quietly as he could. Which wasn't actually that quiet.

"What—" Sabine hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "Are you doing?"

"They're gone!" Ezra replied, just as quietly, pulling himself up and out of the hiding spot. "And I need to know if they took it!"

"Took what?" Sabine demanded, but Ezra was already running off. With a groan of annoyance, the _Mando'ad_ shuffled to the side, so that she was where Ezra had been laying. She pulled herself out of the floor, and then reached back in, fishing around for her _buy'ce_ and _sen'tra_. She replaced the floor panel, and pulled her gear on, just in time for Ezra to come flying out of her room, furious. "What now?"

"They took it!"

"Took what?"

"The Holocron!"

"What the kriff is a Holocron?" Sabine wondered, standing up and starting towards the cargo bay, intending to find Chopper, keeping an eye on Ezra as she did. "And why is it important?"

Ezra opened his mouth, only to close it, shaking his head. "I can't tell you."

"Can't be that important then."

Ezra reached a hand towards the blaster at his hip, fingers curling around the grip. He held it up to his face, studying it, fingers going white on the hilt. Or whatever. It was a weird blaster, that was for sure. It looked more like it should be a sword hilt with a guard than anything. "Something's happening," Ezra said, frowning. "Someone was in my head."

"Um..." Sabine said, unsure of how to react to that. "Do you need a head doctor?"

"No!" Ezra snapped, then sighed, clipping the blaster-thing back to his hip. "Guess we have to do a rescue mission, huh?"

"Yup." Sabine pulled out a pistol and swung it around her finger, smirking at Ezra from under her _buy'ce_. "Should be fun."

"Why are you like Leia?" Ezra sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. He made a funny expression, wringing his nose. "Why am I like Luke right now? I don't want to be like Luke!"

"Whatever kid, don't know who those people are.

* * *

It wasn't too hard to put on stormtrooper armour, Ezra found. The _Ghost_ crew had a few sets—he didn't question why, considering he ran around with a lightsaber that doubled as a blaster. Sabine hated the helmet, and after almost walking into the wall, he got why. The vision was absolute shit. Why nobody had figured that out and fixed it was beyond him. Maybe it was a Rebel. Maybe the Empire didn't care. Maybe you had to adjust to it, or there was some kind of HUD setting. He didn't know.

The two of them marched down the gangplank, clutching the weapons that the _Ghost_ crew had nabbed alongside the uniforms, Chopper between them. He felt sick, the Force around them almost warped. It felt like Malachor all over again. Something unnatural. Ezra remembered that, remembered fighting the Third Brother, only surviving because Quinlan had followed him there.

Marching through the Imperial Destroyer felt a lot like creeping through the Sith Temple. There was a distinct feeling of _not_ _right_ somewhere around him, and it made him lean on the training bond with Kanan, hard. In return, he got a sense of warning, the sort of thing that he knew meant Kanan would much rather prefer he stayed on the Ghost and waited for his Master to break out himself. Which... Kanan didn't have a lightsaber. The hilt was hidden under the armour that Ezra wore, just like his own sabre was.

Ezra wasn't planning on rescuing his Master though. He knew that Kanan would get out on his own. Ezra was more concerned about the Holocron, which had more than enough evidence to make the Empire just in imprisoning or killing the crew and Kanan for being Jedi. The Holocron alone, even deactivated, was enough for that. Either Ezra had to get it before someone who knew what it was could find it, or... he had to get it no matter what. They couldn't let the Empire have it.

Ezra reached out through the Force as they were stopped, the officer demanding to know what they were doing with Chopper. He let Sabine adlib their answer, focusing on the Holocron instead. It was almost like a kyber crystal, the way it hummed, but it wasn't. It was... younger. More raw. Harder to get a grip on.

He started to march beside Sabine as they continued to walk forwards, the Force swirling around them. She was brighter than ever, a supernova compared to the people around them, and it was reassuring. He crept into the light, wrapping it around himself, hiding his signature with her own. It was comforting like Kanan was. Reassuring.

"Where are you going?" Sabine hissed, snapping Ezra out of his thoughts. She grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back into line beside her. The hallway was empty and somewhat quiet, grey and shiny, the lights blinding, and not in a good way like Sabine was. "The cells aren't that way!"

"I'm not going to the cells," Ezra replied, his voice sounding strange even to him. "I'm getting our stuff."

"That _stuff_ ," Sabine started. "Is replaceable. People are not."

"This isn't replaceable." Ezra insisted, pulling away from Sabine. "I have to get it. They can't have it."

"What is more important than their lives?" Sabine demanded, and Ezra took another step back, words catching in his throat. He couldn't tell them. Not here. Not now. Instead, Ezra just shook his head, taking another step back, the blaster heavy in his hands.

"I can't tell you."

He turned, and started away, unwrapping himself from her light, and moving straight into the darkness. It was cold, and dug at his mind, pushing up against his shields. Ezra gritted his teeth and kept pushing, drawing on his bond with Kanan to stay anchored in the light.

* * *

"You have a Holocron in your possession."

Kanan bit down on the inside of his cheek, flattening his expression into something unreadable. Beside him, Hera didn't move, nor did he say anything, while Zeb grunted in what seemed to be confusion. This was not good. Yes, they weren't wrong; _he_ had a Holocron in his possession. But Hera and Zeb certainly didn't. And he knew it wouldn't make a difference if he admitted to being the owner. They'd just kill him first. Or torture him, and then kill him first, then the others.

In any situation, he would end up dead, and so would the other two. Which left only one option; break out.

"Don't even know what a hologram _is_ ," Zeb grunted, and the officer nodded once, sharply. Kanan gritted his teeth as the lasat screamed in pain, but didn't close his eyes. Instead, he kept them open, unwilling to lose an opportunity to escape. His legs were free, but his hands were pinned to the wall above him, high enough up that he couldn't touch the floor. It put considerable strain on his shoulders, and he was fairly certain that spending too much time in the position might end with him getting a dislocated shoulder.

He felt Ezra brush against him, and he returned it with _stay_ _away_ , _danger_ , _leave_. Of course, Ezra replied with what Kanan expected, which was a resounding _no_ , _not_ _leaving_. With a blink, Kanan came back to the present, eyes narrowing in on the stormtrooper with the shock prod thing—there was a proper name for the metal stick with purple electricity, but Kanan wasn't really concerned with the name when he was about to be stabbed with it.

He bit back his scream as best he could, teeth crushing together as he writhed in place, spine arching, head digging into the wall behind him. Then, the energy was gone, and he went limp, gasping for air. Ezra was trying to prod at him, but Kanan pushed him away, walling him off as much as he dared, sending more of _danger_ , _danger_ , _leave_ , before he was shocked again.

"Tell me." the officer said, tone blank, but Kanan could sense the inner turmoil. The silent, wavering tune that could only be translated _into this isn't right_ , and _my_ _job_ , and _protect younger_. Force, things were hard to put into Basic words. Or words in general. But Kanan understood. Either this officer did it, or someone else had to, and this officer wasn't about to let them have this on their conscience. Honourable, in a dark, twisted way. "Who is the Jedi?"

"We don't know any Jedi!" Hera spat, glaring at the officer. Kanan felt the twitch of _sorry_ and almost wanted to tell Hera to back off. But that wouldn't go over well for any of them. He'd get questions, it wouldn't help their situation, and the officer might get written up if he was proven to be correct. "Your Empire made sure none of them lived."

"You lie." the officer said, in the same, dead tone. "There are reports. Show them."

One of the 'troopers stepped forwards, holding up a holo-communicator, one that had been clearly altered to store data. The 'trooper turned it on, and Kanan's breath caught. _Cal_. Cal was alive, Cal had survived the Order, Cal was still there, fighting. Fighting—oh Force, the Second Sister. Kanan couldn't tear his eyes away, watching the blue-tined redhead stumble and slash, holding a lightsaber that wasn't his own, but one that Kanan remembered as belonging to Cal's master.

"This was taken two standard days ago."

The recording cut out, and the 'trooper stepped back, but it was enough. Instead of hurting the three, the recording had given Caleb hope.

Caleb.

He hadn't been Caleb Dume in a long time.

Ezra brushed against him again, a question of what was happening, clearly wondering why Kanan's signature had brightened, and he returned it with _alive_ , _alive_ , _friend_ , before sealing off the bond as best he could again because he could sense someone else on the ship now. He'd been too focused on Hera and Zeb and Ezra and Sabine and the officer and the stormtroopers to notice, but now he felt it, smothering him, close by. Not outside the door close, but nearer than before, if only slightly.

 _Darkness_. _Sith_. _Shadows_.

An Inquisitor, by the feel of it. Not the Second Sister, Caleb guessed, considering the recording he'd just seen. But someone strong in the Force, he could tell that much, somewhere higher up on the chain of command. Fourth, fifth at the lowest, if his knowledge of their hierarchy was accurate.

"Tell us which one of you is the Jedi." the officer repeated, and Kanan felt the cracks in the mind, the _dear stars_ , and the _sorry_ , as the stormtrooper with the shock prod stepped towards Zeb, who was on the other side of Hera, furthest from Caleb.

He moved his fingers around a bit, seeing how much room he had to work with. Gestures weren't necessary when it came to wielding the Force, but it was strongly encouraged, as it made it much easier to use. Caleb reached inside himself, and then outside of himself, feeling the pulse that ran through everyone in the room. He gestured with his fingers, flexing them, and the stormtrooper went flying across the room, slamming into the officer, both of them crashing into the 'trooper who'd shown them the recording.

Hera made a choking noise, and Zeb made a _huh_ sound, both clearly either thinking the other had been holding back on them, or that they were hallucinating. Which they weren't since Caleb had been the one to throw the 'trooper.

With a bit of physical strength and a bit of the Force, Caleb broke free of the restrains, dropping to the floor. He reached out towards the others, eyes closing, and made his hands into fists. The restraints holding the pair up snapped apart, and both Zeb and Hera collapsed to the ground.

"What the—" Hera started to say, but Caleb shook his head, even as he helped her to her feet.

"Later."

Her eyes narrowed. "You _will_ be explaining."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Cingam'e - pl. white armour, stormtroopers, lit. 'white skin'
> 
> Sen'tra - jetpack


	6. Belief is not a matter of choice, but conviction

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Six: Belief is not a matter of choice, but conviction.

* * *

"What the—" Sabine said, upon realizing that apparently, her crew had rescued themselves. That fact wasn't unwelcome, or even much of a surprise, but the fact that a freaking blaster was floating in the air before her was a surprise. It didn't shoot, thank the stars, instead, it flew back, and into Kanan's hand. He didn't look surprised by the fact that a floating blaster had just flown into his hand, but Hera's usual calm and serene expression had a few cracks in it, and Zeb wasn't even bothering to fully hide his surprise. "Oh. That... explains a lot."

"Where's Ezra?" Hera asked as Kanan passed the blaster—an E-11 rifle, her training recited, and she told her training to shut up—over to her. He then freaking summoned a stun baton from one of the _cingam'e_ on the floor, stepping up the stairs to the hallway as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Chopper, unplugging from the door, let out a stream of Binary that went along the lines of _stupid_ , _ran_ , _holo_ _cube_.

"Kids dead by now," Zeb grumbled, climbing the steps after Kanan, Hera following after him. Sabine ditched the _cin'gam buy'ce_ ; there was no way she could pretend she was escorting the group to another section of the ship all by her lonesome, and the vision it was shit compared to her _buy'ce_.

"Ezra's not dead," Kanan said, stepping out into the middle of the hallway, and closing his eyes. Sabine shot at look at Hera that she hoped might communicate something along the lines of _who the hell is this guy and is he insane or what_. By Hera's expression, the Twi'lek was wondering the same thing and didn't have an answer. Kanan pointed down one hallway. "He's over there."

"Okay, just what," Sabine said flatly, not quite believing this guy, but also, floating blaster and stun baton, so... Yeah. Just yeah. Maybe she was hallucinating this. Which was bad. Really, really bad. But until she figured that out, she was going along with the idea that it was really happening and she was not crazy.

Kanan didn't bother to explain, which would have been nice, but Sabine got why. Enemy territory, prison break, let's not scream secrets to the bad guys. All that stuff. So, she shoved her E-11 at Zeb, who accepted it without complaint, drew her pistols, which she'd hidden under the plating on her chest and back—being smaller than most _cin'gam_ had to have some benefits—and charged after the crazy man.

Kanan ran like he'd grown up on the ship, which Sabine knew he hadn't—at least, she hoped he hadn't. Because this ship wasn't that old. He never wavered in which direction he chose to go in, never paused in his running, except to take out the _cingam'e_ they came across, with a mix of what Sabine knew to be martial arts and old ones at that, and the stun baton, jabbed in a few key places between the _cingam'e_ _beskar'gam_. Sabine just aimed for the _kute_ under the _beskar'gam_ , sprinting to keep up with the man. They skidded into a hallway, or, at least, Sabine did. Chopper was lagging along with Zeb and Hera, and Kanan didn't skid, just charged right in, calling out loud. "Ezra!"

"Kanan!"

And then Sabine understood what the hell was happening. A small cylinder flew through the air, and Kanan jumped, catching it. It activated, a beam of blue light humming through the air as he came down on the figure in black between him and Ezra. The figure twisted where they stood, their _ge'tal'kad_ blocking Kanan's blue one. A laugh came from them, and Sabine's throat tightened.

"Jedi Knight! Finally! A real challenge!"

They shoved Kanan back, and the man twisted in the air, landing in a crouch, one hand brushing the ground to stabilize himself, the other holding his _Jetii'kad_ , not letting it cut through the floor or walls. The _dar'jetii_ spun their lightsaber around, almost snickering to themself. "Your Padawan is _less_ than entertaining."

Ezra, on the far side of the purple-skinned humanoid, held up his own _kebiin'kad_ , and everything clicked properly. _Jedii_. _Jedii'ika_. Holocron. She still didn't know what a Holocron was. But she did know that the two _Jetii_ had two different stances. Which seemed odd. Kanan had a forewards grip, like what Sabine would choose, his free hand stretched out before him, the one with the sabre held back, the blade hovering beside his cheek. Ezra had a reverse grip, crouched slightly in his stance. Sabine's eyes narrowed, and she lifted her pistols, trying to figure out where to go next with this shitshow.

Sabine knew from experience that she could shoot at the Sith—that was the Basic term, as far as she could remember, but she still didn't understand why languages made new words up when you could just use the words you already had—but he'd just send them flying back at her. Or at Ezra and Kanan, and she didn't know if they knew how to deflect the bolts. So she stayed where she was, lowering herself down onto one knee for a more stable position, holding both pistols at the ready, steadying her breathing, in and out.

"Well?" the _dar'jetii_ challenged, activating the second blade on their weapon, the hiss of the lightsaber causing Sabine's heart to skip a beat at the reminder of the last time they'd tangled with them, and the burn scar on her lower back, which tingled at the very thought of a repeat. "Come then, Jedi. See if you can beat me."

Ezra didn't hesitate to charge, sprinting forwards. He jumped, further and higher than a human should have been able to, and kicked off the wall, twisting through the air, slashing down on the _dar'jetii_ , who meet the blue with red and twisted away, forcing Ezra to dive and roll away, coming up beside Kanan. The two _Jetii_ moved forwards in unison and the _dar'jetii_ faced them, not seeming to be scared.

"What in the—" Zeb grumbled, and Sabine shrugged her shoulders, not taking her eyes off the _dar'jetii_ , her training screaming at her, and for once, she was grateful. She didn't want to miss something important. All the same, she noticed that both Hera and Zeb took up defensive positions around her, Chopper stopping close to her right side. She was safe to focus entirely on the battle, and so she did.

The two humans moved forwards, seemingly as one. Ezra attacked low, blade humming through the air, near the keshiri's ankles, as he spun around in a crouch, trading sides with Kanan, who slashed at the Keshiri's head. The first blade was jumped over, the second blocked. Ezra jumped from the crouch onto the wall, seemingly hovering there, before he flipped backwards, over the Keshiri, who was exchanging strikes with Kanan. Ezra cut at the _dar'jetii_ calves, barely missing, still using a reverse grip, Sabine noted, biting her lip, foot jittering with anticipation. She just needed one good shot. Just one.

Ezra took up the attack, moving without hesitating, and moving fast, slashing and spinning and flipping back, out of the way of counter-attacks. Sabine was taught how to kill _Jetii_ as a young girl; it was part of her culture. She recognized Kanan's Form III stance, and Ezra's Form IV techniques and movements, the Shien reverse grip. Her training was giving her a constant narration of _that makes him vulnerable, just a twitch of your finger and the_ Jetii'ika _would be disabled at the least_ , and stars, she hated it. Because could she just not deal with it right then? Please.

Ezra flipped backwards, _Jetii'kad_ turning off, and somehow vanishing from his hands, but Sabine couldn't see it on the floor as the boy executed a set of handsprings, landing in a crouch, near one wall. The Keshiri had turned away from him, focusing his attacks on Kanan, which let Sabine confirm that yup, that was Form III, in all its glory. The blades clashed and hummed and hissed, as Ezra lifted the hilt of his _kad_ , aiming at the Keshiri as if he had a blaster in hand. And then something else clicked into place.

Oh.

A blue stun orb flew forwards, and the Keshiri spun around to deflect it. Except, Sabine knew from her mother, that stun orbs or bolts or whatever, they didn't rebound as blaster bolts did. They essentially evaporated on contact, like cutting a physical sword through a can of spray paint, except more watery.

Kanan ducked, and Sabine pulled the trigger on one of her pistols, the weapon discharging with barely any kickback, familiar and smooth to her hands.

Her bolt slammed into the back of the Keshiri's shoulder, causing him to stumble. Kanan thrust both hands out as if pushing, and the _dar'jetti_ went flying down the hallway towards Ezra, who was pressed up against one wall to make room for the Keshiri. The teenager made a similar motion, but his move was more sweeping as he added his strength to Kanan's, sending the Keshiri flying, crashing through one of the doors.

Sabine blinked, coming back to reality. It was like settling back into her body after an out of body experience, and she winced at the sound of the alarms blaring the moment she registered them, standing up and holstering both blasters. "We gotta go."

"I got it," Ezra promised Kanan, patting the strap that crossed his chest, a bag hanging off the back of it. The older human nodded, and Sabine stood up, her foot slightly tingling from holding her position for so long. "Let's go."

* * *

"You guys are explaining, right now." Sabine snapped, throwing herself into the copilot's seat, as Zeb ran off towards the gunners, and Hera strapped herself into the pilot's seat. "And I mean _right_ _now_."

"Jedi, survived, let's go!" Ezra retorted, yelping as Kanan grabbed him and shoved him into the seat behind Sabine's. "Hey!"

Hera was already taking off, and Sabine reached for the hyperdrive controls, not sure how much fire they were going to have to deal with, and wanting to be ready to punch it the moment they were clear to go. She glared at the teenager all the same, from around the back of her seat. "Now."

"No, that's about it—"

"Sabine!" Hera snapped, and the Mandalorian twisted back around, fingers tightening on the hyperdrive as they darted out of the hanger. "When I tell you, punch it."

Sabine nodded sharply, the _cin'beskar'gam_ uncomfortable, the plating on her back digging into her spine, but she ignored it, focusing on the green lights that Hera was diving around, twisting and swooping. She heard Ezra mutter something along the lines of _almost as good as Anakin_ , to which she wanted to snap that Hera could out-fly anyone, no worries, but she focused on the firefight, instead.

"Now!" Hera shouted, and Sabine thrust the control forwards, and the _Ghost_ jolted as they made the jump to hyperspace, planets and ships folding away, stars lighting up and streaking across their sightlines, swirling around them in a blue-white light. Sabine let out a breath of relief and spun her chair around to face Ezra and Kanan.

"What."

"Uh..." Ezra said, turning away from her to look at Kanan. "What was the freakout?"

"Cal."

* * *

"Cal."

The man turned, to face Padmé, a slightly wide-eyed expression dancing across his face. She couldn't help but smile, reminded of Luke when he realized that no, he hadn't actually finished a particular chore and that he had to hurry to get it done before someone less forgiving noticed. She held up a small pile of folded clothing, holding it out for him to take, and he did so, slightly nervously.

Padmé knew how to read people. She'd been elected leader of the Royal House of Naboo when she'd been fourteen, and after that, had become Naboo's senator and representative in the Republic Senate. She could read people, as well as most Force-sensitives, even better than some of them. So it wasn't hard for her to note that Cal was still adjusting, which was to be expected. She wouldn't have been surprised if he was in a form of shock, personally.

"These are more suited for the desert," she explained, their fingers brushing as she handed the clothes off. They were fairly simple, the lightweight, breathable clothing that Padmé herself wore, that Obi-Wan and her children wore. She'd included a poncho-like cowl for him, noticing the one he wore already, and wanting to give him a degree of familiarity. "You're of course free to wear what you like, but these might be more comfortable here."

"Thank you," Cal said, quietly, his voice hoarse as he sat down on the bed that was now his. It was a rectangle, carved into the wall, just like the other beds were. It opened up space and meant fewer things for people to trip over when they moved around the quarters. Sensing that he would much rather be alone, Padmé just smiled at him, and turned away, her footsteps echoing softly around the cold room.

She hadn't been convinced of the idea of going to Tatooine at first. But she'd been swayed quite quickly. Because Obi-Wan had been right; it was the last place anybody would think to look for Anakin, Padmé, or their children, as it was somewhat well-known amongst 'important people' that Anakin hated his planet of origin, and would rather cut off his own hand then go back there willingly. Or something equally drastic.

The farmhouse had been abandoned when they found it. A bit of checking had confirmed that nobody lived there, meaning that nobody would care if they moved in. At first, it had been smaller, and they'd been forced to sleep four to a room, but they'd expanded since then. Now it was only two to a room. The twins slept together, she and Anakin shared a room, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, Ezra with Kanan, the clones were together, and Bariss with Luminara. Quinlan was rarely at the farmhouse, meaning that Cal would probably spend more time having his own room than sharing one with anybody.

Stepping outside of the farmhouse, into the courtyard, Padmé took a long breath of the quickly cooling night air, lifting her chin to the sky. The last rays of the second sun were fading and in the courtyard, alone, was Leia, moving through a series of weaponless kata's, ones that Padmé knows herself. The young girl's fists flitted through the desert air, small grunts of effort escaping her as she moved around, turning and kicking and blocking invisible strikes.

Padmé, dressed in simple clothing, much like her daughter, her hair done in a single braid down her back, only watched in interest, noticing how Leia almost overbalanced on one kick, her weight falling back onto her grounded foot's heel, and how it put off the following strike. But she didn't mention it; Leia was the sort of perfectionist her brother was, only instead of information and tinkering, she was a perfectionist when it came to combat. She knew the mistake had happened.

With a final kick, Leia ended the kata, shifting her feet into a resting stance, and bringing her hands, in loose fists, down to the correct position before she allowed herself to step out of it, and turn towards her mother. "Hi."

"Are you coming inside?" Padmé asked, hands folded behind her back, eyes following Leia as the girl started towards the far side of the courtyard, towards the second set of bedrooms.

"Yeah," Leia called over her shoulder, starting up the steps. "Going in now! Night, mom!"

"Goodnight." Padmé echoed, watching the door swung shut behind her daughter, the noise reverberating around the courtyard. With a sigh, Padme began to climb the steps that lead to the surface of the desert, where she knew that Obi-Wan would be, meditating with the final moments of the day, when it was warm, but not so hot that you felt like you were melting. Her steps were quiet on the stones, the fabric that wound around her feet and calves as shoes shuffling softly.

She found Obi-Wan where he always was, sitting cross-legged, hands resting in his lap, fingers pressed gently against each other. Padmé sat down beside him, looking over the horizon at the golden orb of fire that was the second sun. She listened to the sounds of the farmhouse shutting down for the night. Faintly, she could hear Luke and Leia arguing. Rex and Cody were probably going through their routine of cleaning their gear, no matter if they'd actually used it or not. Bariss was likely meditating somewhere, along with her former master.

Ahsoka... she didn't tend to have a routine. But considering that she knew their newest member, Cal, Padmé could guess that she was keeping an eye on him, if only through the Force. C-3PO was probably arguing with R2-D2 somewhere in one of the rooms.

And the rest of their little makeshift family was off-planet. Ezra and Kanan were on Lothal, last time Padmé had heard, and her husband was investigating the disturbance that had set Cal off. Quinlan was always hard to track, but he checked in fairly regularly, usually just with messages such as 'Not dead yet, heading to Mid Rim' or something equally vague. Yoda, while not exactly part of their family, was sort of like a distant cousin, way over on Degobah.

And that was everyone. Padmé let out a small sigh of relief as she finished her mental checklist. While most of the others could check through the Force to ensure that the rest of them were alright, she didn't have that option—well, the droids didn't either, but C-3PO only noticed half the time when someone was missing, usually by shuffling into the room in a panic and announcing that 'Master Vos has vanished! Oh dear!' or something along those lines. So instead of tracking them through the Force, Padmé tracked them in her head, remembering where everyone was supposed to be at any given time.

A moment later, Obi-Wan let out his own breath and turned to Padmé, who gave him a slight smile. "How is Cal?"

She considered her words for a brief second, mind spinning through the information she had and creating the right answer within the time it took for her to blink. "I think he's in shock. He wasn't aware that anyone survived, and this all—" Padmé gestured around them with one hand, encompassing the entire farmhouse and land, "—is a bit overwhelming for him. But he's a good kid."

"I was never close to his master," Obi-Wan admitted thoughtfully. "But I always admired Jaro's dedication to him. He was never unnecessarily harsh, but he never coddled Cal either. He showed him the universe as it was and let him make his own judgement. It was somewhat unorthodox, but nobody ever asked him to stop.

"And it will be good for Kanan." Obi-Wan continued, meeting Padmé's gaze, blue on brown, both strong, both old, both different. "The two of them were friends if I remember correctly. They trained together."

"I'm surprised you know that," Padmé said, turning her gaze back towards the sun, the shadows creeping across the sand, a cool wind tugging at her hair and robes. "I didn't think you spent much time with the younglings."

"I didn't." Obi-Wan chuckled. "But they were Ahsoka's age. There was a gap in youngling ages around her, we only had a few her age, so she spent a great deal of time with both of them before becoming a padawan herself. I know that she trained Cal in basic Jar'Kai techniques after he accidentally got her memories of it. A side effect of the psychometry."

"Sounds overwhelming."

"Psychometry can be, at times. Quinlan often would activate it without wanting to when we were initiates. He had more than one trip to the Healers as a result."

"I'd imagine." Padmé murmured, recalling her daughter's own strange Force ability, which Obi-Wan had called shatterpoint. It wasn't like psychometry, where touching an object could result in it activating, which was a good thing, considering it did exactly what it sounded like it would do. They'd had to replace several doors and speeder windshields before Leia had managed to get a grip on the skill. Now, it only occasionally acted up. "Especially for a young child."

"He tried to wear gloves once," Obi-Wan told her, smiling fondly at the memory. "And then we found out that said gloves also had echoes linked to them. That was the end of that idea, unfortunately."

The two sat in silence, as the first of three moons rose behind them, bathing the planet in a blue-white glow. Obi-Wan rose, brushing his robes off, and offered Padmé a hand up, which she accepted. At some point, the twins had either solved their argument, started giving each other the cold shoulder or had been separated by someone. The courtyard was silent, and empty, save for Cody, who was sitting on the bench that they'd carved into the wall, holding his old Clone Wars rifle, which Padmé knew was a DC-15A model. She'd seen the name on lists and bills more times than she'd ever wanted to during the war.

"You should come inside," Obi-Wan said, and the former commander shook his head, looking up at the dark sky, finger resting on the trigger of his blaster, hand relaxed, entire stance relaxed, but Padmé knew that could change in less than half a second. The war had left a lot of damage, on a lot of people. The clones, the _vod_ , Padmé thought, had always been the ones on the short end of the stick. Born only for the conflict, terminated if they showed weakness, implanted with chips to make them turn on those who showed them kindness.

"Not a good night."

* * *

"Jedi." Sabine sounded out, letting the word roll off her tongue. "Jed-ai!"

"You don't have to say it a million times," Ezra complained, from across the table. Sabine glanced up from her sketchpad to look at him, raising her eyebrows. "We get it, okay?"

"Uh-huh." Sabine nodded in mock seriousness, going back to her sketching. Ezra rolled his eyes, turning his lightsaber hilt around and around in his hands, staring at where his kyber crystal was hidden inside, a hum in the back of his mind, constant as his bond with Kanan was. As constant as the Force was. "Sure, whatever."

Ezra sighed, and closed his eyes, leaning back in the booth. He reached out for Kanan, finding him instantly, and sinking into the familiar presence. It was a natural thing for him to do; he spent a fair amount of time in the back of his head, just waiting for time to pass. He didn't really have any other hobbies that he could practice publicly without revealing the fact that he was Force-sensitive, but meditation and similar activities weren't picked up on.

It was going to be a long few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Kute - clothing worn under armour, blacks
> 
> Cebiin'kad - blue lightsaber, lit. blue sword
> 
> Jedii'ika - padawan, lit. little Jedi
> 
> Jetti'kad - lightsaber
> 
> Cin'beskar'gam - white armour, a Mando'a word for stormtrooper armour


	7. Friendship shows us who we really are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sand, suns, secrets, and siblings.

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Seven: Friendship shows us who we really are.

* * *

"We're going back?"

Sabine personally thought that Ezra sounded far too happy for someone who'd just been told they were going to Tatooine of all places—it was a planet that, in her opinion, was complete banthashit, but whatever, she wasn't a Jedi. Ezra was probably happy for some insane reason, she concluded. And in any case, she didn't care where they went all that much, so long as it didn't result in fighting another Inquisitor—as the _darjetii_ fighters were apparently called. Leia, whoever _that_ was, apparently seemed to have a knack for finding them, and that was how Ezra and Kanan knew what they were called. Sabine didn't care.

"Apparently you work with Fulcrum," Hera said, and Sabine perked up at the mention of the Rebel. Hera had never shared details about the mysterious lifeform, but they sounded pretty awesome, from what Sabine could tell. "Who's told us that there's someone you need to meet there."

"Cal," Kanan said, nodding quietly to himself. "That'll be good."

"Still haven't told us who Cal is," Sabine said, trying not to snap. She wasn't really mad that the two hadn't told the crew they were Jedi; hell, if she was a Jedi right now, she wouldn't tell _anyone_. But it's annoying when the two of them leave chunks of information out. Massive chunks. Sabine wasn't used to working with every detail, but she was used to working with a lot more information than the two of them had given her.

Ezra made a few, seemingly random gestures, waving his hands around theatrically. "Red hair. Climbs things. Has a knack for getting Kanan in trouble."

Kanan sighed, standing up, and heading out of the cockpit. "Stay out of my head, would you?"

Ezra spun around in his chair, watching his Master leave, and called after him, just before the doors slid shut. "You were in my head first!"

Kanan didn't answer, and Ezra turned back around, in time to see the crew's expressions. Sabine knew that she was radiating either confusion or the general sentiment of being unimpressed just like Hera was, and Zeb was either bored out of his mind or... no, probably just bored. Ezra shrugged. "What?"

* * *

Hera had never been to Tatooine. She knew the planet's reputation, just barely, through horror stories. She'd been told, over and over, never go there without people you trust, who aren't twi'lek's. Because if you did, the Hutts would find you and enslave you. So it was with caution that she guided the Ghost down into the spaceport that Fulcrum had given them the name of. There was a small jolt as they landed, and Hera started the lockdown sequence. She didn't trust anyone who worked on this planet.

Behind her, Sabine was grumbling about what she'd been given to wear. It was a dark brown cowl, that covered her Mandalorian armour, her helmet stuffed into a pack that she was carrying. Hera could hear Ezra lecturing her about the sun's heat in the sort of voice that told her he'd been on the receiving end of the lecture more than once and was thrilled to be the one giving it for once. Zeb was silent, not complaining about his cowl, and Kanan of course had been to Tatooine before.

"I'll pay the owner of the port," he told her, staring down the ladder. Hera glanced over her shoulder and gave a single nod of understanding before she continued to lock down the ship. It doesn't take long to finish the sequence, and then she's following the others down the ladder, Ezra silent, and walking out the ship, Chopper right beside her.

Kanan was speaking to a humanoid lifeform with pasty grey skin and three eyes, missing both the nose and the mouth that most lifeforms had, instead just having a flat expanse of skin. Hera tried not to stare, unwanting to draw attention to herself. But it was difficult; she'd never seen anything like it before, and she was itching to ask questions because it really was fascinating.

She held her tongue as Kanan came back to the group, holding up a data crystal for her to take. "Nobody'll take the ship," he assured her. "We use this place all the time."

Ezra muttered something under his breath that might have been along the lines of _kriffing Hutts_ , but Hera chose to ignore that in favour of passing the crystal to Chopper to hold onto. The droid whirred and beeped a stream of binary that Kanan ignored, turning back around and leading them out of the port, onto the streets. They weren't really busy, but they weren't empty either. And it was boiling.

Hera was suddenly grateful that she'd also been forced into desert clothing.

Ezra was looking around, clearly trying to find someone, and Hera frowned, narrowing her eyes and scanning the crowd for anyone that might be a Jedi or a Rebel, although she doubted she'd spot anyone of the sort. Kanan and Ezra had been on the ship for a standard week before they'd left Lothal, and nobody had noticed anything about them that might signal them as being Jedi.

"Over there," Kanan said, lifting one hand to point to a beaten-up speeder. Beside it, a human woman stood, dressed in what Hera could only guess was common clothing for those who lived on Tatooine, with a staff slung over her shoulder by a leather strap. It seemed to be cobbled together with random bits of metal, but Hera wasn't about to dismiss it.

She lifted a hand in greeting, in a motion that almost looked like a salute, but Hera knew it wasn't one. It was too casual and didn't carry any weight behind it. Even mocking salutes carried a certain amount of something behind them. But Kanan lifted his hand in return, leading them towards her.

The woman had wrappings around her head and face, pulled up across her nose, covering her neck and hair, leaving just her eyes, which were sheltered by a pair of goggles. Standing straight as Kanan came closer, she clasped his hand between two of her own, giving a slight nod, before repeating the gesture with Ezra, who gave her a quick embrace afterwards.

Hera could feel the woman's gaze on her, even if she couldn't see it through her goggles, and she knew that the woman was a fighter, in some meaning of the word. Maybe not at first with her fists, but she had that staff, and Hera was sure that she could do a fair amount of damage. The woman nodded, gesturing towards the speeder with one hand. "Sola Skywalker," she said, turning around to climb into the driver's seat. "Don't fall off."

"Wasn't planning on it," Sabine grumbled, but climbed on beside Ezra, who was sitting on the back of the craft, legs pulled up, out of the way of the engines. Sabine pulled her legs up as well, eyes narrowed against the harsh light of the twin suns that were above them, and Hera just knew that she was silently fighting with herself over the urge to put her helmet on, and the Twi'lek wouldn't be surprised if she did, the moment they were out of town.

Hera herself climbed into the back seat, right behind Sola, while Chopper let out a stream of Binary demanding that Zeb help him up, and the Lasat let a small growl come to the surface, but picked him up none-the-less, depositing the droid less-than-gently into the back of the speeder, before climbing in himself. Sola glanced back at everyone, confirming they were all on the ride before she started the speeder up properly, the engines rumbling as they powered on properly.

Sola, at first, was a careful driver. She didn't go fast, but she wasn't slow either, as they crossed through the city. Well, it wasn't really a city, in Hera's opinion. More of a collection of stone buildings, set into the ground, with plenty of awnings and boards strung between the rooftops, casting shade down on the people below. She spotted several tower-like spikes of metal that were planted on top of the buildings, but she wasn't sure what they were for.

The roads, covered in sand, which seemed to pile up against walls and fall out of cracks everywhere, started to get worse, the further away from the _Ghost_ they got. Until they broke free of city limits, and the path basically turned from the stone road into random rocks thrown onto the ground to mark the way. And then Sola kicked the speeder into high gear, and they really got going.

Ezra let out a whoop, and Hera turned to see that yes, Sabine had indeed put on her helmet, and the two of them were crouched on the back of the speeder, fingers gripping onto the cracks in the metal, Ezra's hair whipping around, Sabine's cowl pulled back by the wind. Hera smiled at the Mandalorian, who lifted her chin slightly a gesture Hera had come to learn meant that she had seen the gesture, and understood it.

* * *

Sabine narrowed her eyes from behind her _buy'ce_ , as Sola slowed down the speeder, bringing them around a dune, and bringing a stone building into sight. Sabine knew exactly what it was. Their destination. How Ezra and Kanan had stayed hidden for so long. And they came to a stop beside the building. Ezra didn't even wait for it to stop before he jumped off, and Sabine followed him, not about to be outdone.

She followed the human across the sand, her toes and heels sinking into the fine grains, skidding to a halt at the edge of some kind of well-like courtyard. Below, a man in similar clothing to Sola was sweeping sand into a dustpan that a young girl, with her hair braided down her back, and a pair of goggles strapped over her eyes, was holding down, crouched beside a white bucket that was already overflowing with the stuff. The entire courtyard was covered in sand, and Sabine could guess that there had been a storm recently.

"Leia!" Ezra shouted, already heading down the steps that were carved into the side of the well-courtyard, feet sending sand flying down them as he headed towards the girl, who's head came up instantly. Sabine slid over the edge of the well, not bothering with half the steps, and landed on one of them, taking the rest down the normal way, after Ezra.

The girl bolted to her feet, and both she and Ezra collided, crashing into each other, both laughing and talking over one another. Sabine glanced at the man, who'd stopped in his sweeping, and noticed another human by one of the metal spike machines she'd seen on the roofs in the town that they'd landed in. He was crouched beside it, fiddling with the settings, or what she guessed were the settings, only glancing up once to look at Ezra. Then he looked up again, doing a double-take, and their eyes met. Ish. Close enough, in any case.

He stood up and started towards her, and she scanned his profile. He was tall, with a scar around his left eye, and a somewhat harsh expression. He lifted a hand towards her shoulder, and before she knew what she was doing, she had grabbed ahold of his wrist, squeezing hard, and pulling him away. "Don't touch me."

He backed off slightly, and her heartbeat slowed down, back to normal. That gesture wasn't okay. That gesture was bad. Very bad. But he'd stopped. He'd stopped, so maybe he wasn't as bad as _dush'jag_. Her breathing was harsh, Sabine realized, even as she forced it to slow down, staring at his face.

" _Kion haat'Mando'ad?_ "

Mandalorian. Accent near-perfect. Sabine swallowed, forming her answer, the Mando'a rolling off her tongue effortlessly, despite the few chances she'd had to practice it aloud in recent times.

" _Ori'ade aliit Wren, Sabine. Kion gar'gai?_ "

" _Kote, aliit Vod._ "

Kote of Clan Siblings. He was a clone then, for sure. Sabine had known that the _eyayad_ had often followed the Way, if not always, and that they'd used the title of _Vod_ as their Clan name, but she hadn't realized what that meant fr her personally. In _Mando'ade_ culture, so long as your clans were allies, you were practically _aliit_ with their members. The _eyayad_ were her _vod_ , just like Tristan was her _vod'ika_.

She held her hand out, and Kote clasped her forearm in a traditional _Mando'ade_ greeting, smiling at her, and she smiled back, from under her _buy'ce_ , nodding at him. " _Kion birov'aliit'Vod olar?_ "

" _Nayc, shi'ni bal vod'ika Rex._ "

Only two of them. Sabine wasn't sure if she should be disappointed or not, although the elation of meeting a _Mando'ad_ who wasn't furious with her or trying to kill them overruled it. Even as she turned to look at the rest of the people who'd gathered in the courtyard, she couldn't get rid of the slightly-giddy feeling she had inside her chest. There was the man who'd been sweeping, a boy who was the girl's height—Leia, Ezra had called her—who was speaking to both Ezra and the girl, a Togruta who was leaning against a doorframe, a young Mirilan, slightly hidden behind the Togruta's shoulder and a man who looked exactly like Kote, just with blonde hair shaved down into a buzz cut.

The blonde came over to the two Mando'ade almost instantly, eyes honing in on Sabine's armour. She held out her hand, and the man, Rex, she presumed, shook it, greeting her in _Mando'a_. " _Ni'gai Rex. Kion gar'gai?_ "

"Sabine Wren," Sabine answered, letting go of his hand. "Didn't know any of you made it through."

"Tougher than we look," Rex said, shrugging, a smirk on his face. Sabine returned it, even though he couldn't see, and scanned the courtyard again. "Kanan didn't mention he was bringing a _Mand'ad_ along."

"I'm estranged," Sabine said, and both _berd'tatugir'e_ gave her looks that she knew meant _that's not how_ Mando'ade aliit _works and you know it_ , but she ignored both of their stares, in favour of crossing her arms across her chest. "Is this planet always this hot?"

"Not at night," Kote said, gesturing towards the doorway that the Togruta and the Mirilan were standing at. Both of them were _Jetii_ , Sabine noted, with the Togruta having a pair of matching _Jetii'kad_ on her belt, and the Mirilan with just a single one. Ezra had said a few of them survived; it wouldn't surprise Sabine if Sola, who was halfway down the stairs, was also a _Jetii_. "That's when you regret cursing the suns."

"Doubt it," Sabine muttered, following the _ori'eyayad_ towards the doorway, step-by-step with Rex. "I'll take the cold over this any day."

She would. Her _kute_ was made to regulate temperatures accordingly, and she'd adjusted her _buy'ce_ for the desert heat, but it didn't do much other than not burn her alive. Besides, _Mando'ade'besbe_ was made for cold temperatures, not hot ones. She was practically dying to strip half of it off for once. Or at least get rid of her _beskar'gam_ , since she didn't have any other clothes with her than the _kute_.

Thankfully, the buildings were colder.

* * *

" _Mando'ad'ika_ seems to be settling quickly enough," Ahsoka mentioned, keeping her voice low, and not bothering to look over her shoulder at the three _Mando'ade_ who were seated at the table, speaking in quiet _Mando'a_. Rex and Cody seemed to be more than happy to speak with her in the language, and they both seemed to be using _kion_ a lot, which Ahsoka took to mean they were questioning her about _Manda'yaim_., which they were both interested in learning about first-hand since they'd never visited. (A siege didn't count.) Bariss hummed in answer.

"Part of the culture."

Ahsoka shrugged with one shoulder, watching the small gathering that was happening. Although it was mostly just Kanan and Obi-Wan speaking, the latter looking faintly concerned, and a little prod into the Force proved that he was concerned about something, along with the twins, who were chattering away with Ezra, the three of them in a tight, closed-off circle. "Probably should rescue our guests, huh?"

"I'll stay here." Bariss voted, taking a step back. "You can have the pleasure of going out there."

Ahsoka scoffed, but stood up straight, and stepped forwards, heading towards the Twi'lek and Lasat, withdrawing her Fulcrum symbol from it's hiding place. She stopped before the pair and held it out to the Twi'lek, who blinked at her, seemingly surprised at what she was being given. "Hera Syndula."

"Fulcrum."

"And my irritating family," Ahsoka said, gesturing to the twins and Ezra. They'd apparently heard her, as Leia broke off from what she was saying to yell _hey, you're the one who picked me, that's your own fault_ , much to Obi-Wan's amusement, and Luke's embarrassment. "You should come inside, I don't think you have the right protection to be out here, do you?"

"Nor do I want to be out here." the Lasat grumbled, and Ahsoka smiled, turning back around, and heading inside, catching Ezra and Leia's shoulders on the way past, and dragging them with her. She didn't bother with Luke, as he followed suit without being prompted, arms crossed over his chest, a glaring—or as close as he got to glaring, at least—at his sister. Ahsoka pushed the two bickering teenagers—her taking ahold of the two hadn't stopped them from arguing over whatever they were fighting about this time—towards Bariss, who side-stepped, avoiding both. Luke shuffled into the farmhouse after him, Padmé appearing beside her son.

They managed to gather around the table, and the Mando'ade fell silent, their conversation over. There weren't enough chairs for everybody to sit down, so most of them stood instead, or sat on the floor, as Luke did, unbothered by the crowd. Or, on the surface, he was unbothered. Ahsoka might not have the bond with the boy that she did with his father or his sister, but she could tell he was uncomfortable with the number of lifeforms in the room.

"You said Cal was here," Kanan said, not even sitting down, and Padmé set a hand on his wrist, her scarves unwound to reveal her face and hair.

"He'd with Luminara," she said calmly, nodding towards the door that led further into the farmhouse. "He'll probably be thrilled to see you."

"Don't die!" Ezra shouted after the human, who gave him a look. The kid snickered to himself, only shutting up when Luke punched him in the shoulder without looking. "Ow."

"That didn't hurt," Luke said dully, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. "So stop complaining."

"How would you know?"

"Both of you shut up," Leia grumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. Ezra was between her and her brother, so she wasn't in danger of being kicked, and therefore free to order Luke around. "Stuff is happening, shh!"

"Yeah, shh!" Ezra agreed, and Luke turned his head away from the other two, with a sound that might have been a sigh, but could also have been a swear word. Ahsoka decided not to mention it, tapping her fingers on the table in a steady beat, without even really noticing it until Bariss moved her hand to rest on top of Ahsoka's, effectively silencing her. Ahsoka cleared her throat.

"Maybe we should start with introductions. I'm Ahsoka Tano, but you know me as Fulcrum. Jedi Knight."

"Bariss Offee." Bariss offered dryly, folding her hands over each other on the table. "Also a Jedi Knight. The healer who makes sure nobody here has died yet."

"Your faith in us is—" there was a pause as Leia tried to find the right word, in which more than one person turned to look at her. "Uh, you know what I mean. Leia Skywalker. I'm Ahsoka's problem. Luke is Bariss' problem."

Luke lifted his hand in what could have been a wave but didn't say anything.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi. Jedi Master."

"I gave you the name Sola." Padmé voiced, giving the crew a small smile, one of her diplomatic ones. "By I was born as Padmé Naberrie of Naboo."

And so it goes. Person after person. Obi-Wan, Rex, Cody. One by one. And then, after that, they were told the story. Of how Anakin and Ahsoka took back Mandalore—Sabine muttered something akin to a prayer or funeral rites under her breath if Ahsoka was remembering the _verde_ culture correctly. She'd never personally taken part in the funeral traditions for the clones, but she'd watched far too many of them not to recognize the chanting _Mando'a_. They spoke about how the two had cut Rex's chip out, and they spoke about how Cody had removed his own months in advance.

The massacre. Kanan's escape, the twins and Ezra making it out. And how they'd backed down, retreated from sight, not even trying to challenge the Sith Lord, backing up to Tatooine. At that, Zeb grunted, clearly unimpressed.

"Three Jedi, and you couldn' take out a' single Sith." he scoffed, but it sounded sadder than anything. All the same, glares were levelled at the Lasat, who ignored them, ignored everyone really until Sabine spoke up.

" _Kyrte'anir_." she offered, and received several confused looks, even from the two other _Mando'ade_ in the room. "It's... a term of surrender. But the good kind of surrender, the one that keeps your clan alive. Quit before you're too far behind, might be the best way to put it. It's considered an act of courage and honour."

"Uh..." Luke said, blinking a few times. At some point in the story, he'd ended up leaning against the back of Bariss' chair, listening intently. "Thanks?"

Sabine shrugged at him, leaning back in her chair, her helmet held on her lap, hands resting on either side of it. Ahsoka was impressed by the artwork that decorated the girl's armour; it was so much like the clones, who'd thrown themselves into the _Mando'ade_ culture the moment they'd discovered it, giving each other colours and markings and symbols on their white, tattoo's on their heads and backs and arms. Yes. This girl was very much Ursa's daughter, Ahsoka could tell. She had that sort of air about her, even with the art.

"So, you've been hiding out on a desert planet for the past however many years," Hera concluded, her gaze on Sabine's finger, where it was tapping on the side of her helmet. "And being thorns in the Empire's side?"

"Pretty much sums it up." Ahsoka agreed. "Togruta and Mirilan's aren't exactly common, and Rex and Cody are very recognizable, even here, on Tatooine, but yes. That."

Sabine tensed at that, glancing over at Cody with a slightly confused expression, her eyes narrowing before she seemed to come to a conclusion, leaning back into her seat. She wasn't that relaxed, but that was expected. She was _Mando'ad_. If she was trained in the Way, then she would be on guard until she trusted them all. Or, at least trusted them not to do something that would be against her interests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Dush'jag - bad man
> 
> Vod'ika - younger sibling
> 
> Eyayad - Mando'a for a clone, equals something along the lines of echo, as clones are their own selves, different from the source, and therefore an echo. (Note: Do not use ara'gotenir, as it translates to stillbirth, and is therefore offensive in the context of clones.)
> 
> Kion - placed at the start of a sentence, indicating a question
> 
> Ori'ade - oldest child
> 
> Gar'gai - your name
> 
> Kote - glory. In context, Cody is using this as the Mando'a pronunciation of his name, and not it's meaning of glory. (Should be noted that a lot of Mando'a meanings change in context, even if they pronunciation and sentence structure stay the same.
> 
> Mando'ade'besbe - Mandalorian kit, slang
> 
> Nayc - negative answer, no, nah, no thank you, nope, etc.
> 
> Verde - warrior, arcaic pl.
> 
> Kyrte'anir - surrender; quit while you're not too far behind; honourable surrender for the good of the, seen as a show of strength


	8. The costs of war can never be truly accounted for

PHASE ONE: DON'T STAND OUT  
Chapter Eight: The costs of war can never be truly accounted for.

* * *

Tap, tap, tap.

Cal lifted his head, looking towards the doorway that Master Unduli had just left through. And he paused, taking a moment to process exactly who was there.

Caleb Dume. Older, yes, barely recognizable by sight, yes. But the lightsaber that hung from his hip was the same one Cal remembered, and the Force-signature was the same at its core, reaching out towards Cal's, brushing gently against his shields, whispering for permission, and Cal granted it, not realizing he was on his feet, that he and Caleb were moving towards each other, entangling through the temporary bond they'd made, overtop of their old one, the one that was created between friends, reigniting it.

"Hey," Cal said quietly, and Caleb grinned. The bond burned, like molten metal, filling in the cracks that had formed through time and distance, and Cal let it happen because he'd missed Caleb. A lot. They'd been split up near the end of the Clone Wars, with Cal becoming Master Tapal's Padawan and Caleb becoming Master Billaba's. They'd rarely seen each other after that, spoken to each other only slightly more often. "Master Unduli said you made it."

Caleb took a step back and then punched Cal in the shoulder. "You jerk."

"What did I do?" Cal demanded, rubbing his shoulder, but he was smiling because Caleb was smiling.

"I found out you were alive by watching you fight a kriffing Inquisitor." Caleb hissed, grabbing Cal by the shoulders, and giving him a little shake. " _Don't do that!_ "

* * *

"Kanan's mad," Ezra commented off-handedly, watching Leia play some kind of pattern slapping game, clapping her hands together and pounding them on the floor, repeating the motions over and over again. "But the good kind."

"Hm." Leia hummed, continuing to do her game. She spared a glance at the dining room that the three of them had just slipped out of. "Who's the _Mando'ad_? They seem pretty neat, what, with that armour and everything."

"That would be Sabine. Wren."

"Wait, didn't I punch a Wren when I was -"

"That was her brother."


End file.
